UNDERBRUSH. 

BY 

JAMES   T.  FIELDS. 


" .  .  .  .  plucked  out  of  hedges, 
.  pitched  in  the  ground  confusedly.'' 

SHAKESPEARE 


A  NEW  AND  ENLARGED  EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 


Copyright,  1877  and  1881, 
BY  JAMES  T.    FIELDS. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge : 
Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


A.    F. 

1877. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY 3 

A  PECULIAR  CASE 65 

FAMILIAR  LETTER  TO  HOUSE-BREAKERS         .         .  83 

OUR  VILLAGE  DOGMATIST 95 

A  WATCH  THAT  "WANTED  CLEANING"          .        .111 

BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE 119 

.  PLEASANT  GHOSTS .  139 

THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE 147 

GETTING  HOME  AGAIN 161 

How  TO  ROUGH  IT 179 

AN  OLD-TIME  SCHOLAR 197 

DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS 209 

THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA"       .         .  251 

IP  I  WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN 277 

PELETIAH  PELLET'S  YOUTHFUL  CATASTROPHE        .  305 

A  CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER         ....  315 

ABIJAII  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE  EXPERIENCE          .  339 

A  FAIRY  TALE 369 

EPISTLE  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM     .         .        .  377 


MY  FKIEtfD'S  LIEEAKY, 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 


THINK  it  was  Jean  Paul  who  said  he 
always  looked  on  a  library  as  a  learned 
conversation.  But  there  are  libraries 


and  libraries. 

H.  L.  told  me  he  once  found  a  foolish,  pedan- 
tic old  millionnaire  curled  up  in  a  luxurious 
apartment,  walled  with  richly  bound  books,  not 
one  of  which  he  had  ever  read,  but  all  of  which 
he  pretended  to  have  devoured.  L.  says  that 
when  he  entered  this  room,  bestudded  with 
glittering  tomes,  the  proprietor  exclaimed  :  "  And 
so  you  have  found  me  oat  at  last,  alone  with 
my  books !  Here  's  where  I  hide  away  from  the 
family,  day  after  day,  and  nobody's  none  the 


MY  Fit  I  END'S  LIBRARY. 


wiser ! "  Pierce  Egan  has  an  anecdote  of  an- 
other "literary  character,"  which  I  quote  in 
this  connection  without  comment. 

"A  lady,  resident  in  Devonshire,  going  into 
one  of  her  parlors,  discovered  a  young  ass,  who 
had  found  his  way  into  the  room,  and  carefully 
closed  the  door  upon  himself.  He  had  evidently 
not  been  long  in  this  situation  before  he  had 
nibbled  a  part  of  Cicero's  Orations,  and  eaten 
nearly  all  the  index  of  a  folio  edition  of  Seneca 
in  Latin,  a  large  part  of  a  volume  of  La  Bruyere's 
'Maxims'  in  French,  and  several  pages  of  'Ce- 
cilia.' He  had  done  no  other  mischief  whatever." 

The  library  of  old  Sir  John  Danvers,  as  de- 
scribed by  Bernard,  must  have  been  a  curiosity. 
It  abounded  with  the  best  works  of  the  best 
authors,  but  there  was  not  one  perfect  volume 
in  it.  So  eager  had  been  Sir  John  in  his  pur- 
suit of  knowledge,  says  Bernard,  that  he  had 
inspected  every  book  in  his  collection ;  and  wher- 
ever a  passage  pleased  him,  he  tore  out  the  leaf 
and  thrust  it  into  his  pocket ! 

That  was  a  clever  remark  of  an  English  essay- 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 


ist  who  told  us  so  many  years  ago  that  he  had 
such  a  reverence  for  the  wisdom  folded  up  on  his 
library  shelves  that  he  considered  the  very  peru- 
sal of  the  backs  of  his  books  "a  discipline  of 
humanity." 

There  are  some  household  libraries  which  once 
visited  can  never  be  forgotten.  R.  W.  has  one, 
"filled  to  overflowing  with  delights."  You  cannot 
move  about  it  anywhere  and  not  be  enchanted. 
There  is  scarcely  an  edition  of  any  literary  work 
worth  owning  that  cannot  be  discovered  on  his 
shelves,  and  if  you  have  a  year  at  your  disposal 
it  is  none  too  long  to  spend  in  that  "  house  of 
fame."  D.'s  collection  is  a  rare  one,  but  he  will 
insist  on  telling  you  the  cost  of  every  set  of 
books  in  his  possession,  and  thus  exasperate  you 
with  financial  values  when  you  only  wish  for 
literary  estimates.  What  do  I  care  how  much 
he  paid  "fyi  gold  "  for  the  bindings  of  his  various 
Shakespeares  1  It  is  the  "  inspired  leaves "  we 
are  after,  and  not  the  gilded  glories  on  the  out- 
side !  Arrian  tells  us  the  Greeks  thought  it  a 
calamity  to  die  without  having  seen  the  Olym- 


8  J/I"  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

plan  Zeus  by  Phidias,  and  D.  has  the  same  opin- 
ion of  those  unhappy  mortals  who  are  translated 
before  they  have  handled  his  sumptuous  Hor- 
ace in  Hay  day's  magnificent  morocco. 

The  biographer  of  Dickens  (John  Forster)  had 
assembled  a  library  worthy  of  himself,  which  is 
not  unmeaning  eulogy.  It  was  full  of  what 
Lamb  calls  "Great  Nature's  Stereotypes,"  the 
"  eterne "  copies  that  never  can  grow  stale  or 
unproductive,  and  to  have  spent  a  day  in  it 
with  the  host  for  indicator,  and  Dickens  for 
co-enthusiast,  is  a  memory  forever.  Manuscripts 
of  Goldsmith,  Swift,  Johnson,  Sterne,  Addison, 
Burke,  Fielding,  and  Smollet,  together  with  the 
original  draughts  of  "  David  Copperfield,"  "  Oliver 
Twist,"  and  a  dozen  other  books  from  the  same 
glowing  hand  and  brain,  were  not  to  be  handled 
without  a  thrill ! 

I  once  had  the  privilege  of  walking  about  in 
Wordsworth's  library,  and  being  shown  by  the 
poet  himself  many  of  the  jewels  it  contained.  I 
recall  what  I  saw  and  heard  there  with  a  kind  of 
transport  even  now,  although  it  is  more  than 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 


twenty-five  years  since  I  stood  beside  the  vener- 
able author  of  "The  Excursion"  while  he  pointed 
out  in  the  margins  of  his  books  what  Coleridge, 
Lamb,  and  Southey  had  noted  there. 

Lord  Houghton's  library  also  is  one  of  the  most 
attractive  in  England,  especially  in  poetry  and 
autographs.  Alexander  Dyce,  the  editor  of 
"  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,"  had  marvels  to  show 
me  in  his  fine  old  book-rooms  in  Gray's  Inn, 
thirty  years  ago.  But  perhaps  the  most  inter- 
esting to  me  of  all  the  private  libraries  I  have 
ever  seen  in  England  was  the  small  collection 
of  Charles  and  Mary  Lamb,  which  Edward 
Moxon  the  publisher  unlocked  for  me  when  I 
was  first  in  England,  before  the  books  were 
dispersed,  as  they  never  ought  to  have  been. 
Then  -and  there  I  lovingly  handled  his  Kit  Mar- 
lowe, his  Drummond  of  Hawthornden,  his  Dray- 
ton,  his  Cd^wley,  and  his  Burton  !  I  remember 
how  Moxon's  whole  family  stood  around  that 
"  Life  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  by  his  Duchess," 
and  told  stories  of  Lamb's  enthusiasm  over  the 
book,  a  volume  about  which  he  has  written,  "  No 


10  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 


casket  is  rich  enough,  no  casing  sufficiently  dura- 
ble, to  honor  and  keep  safe  such  a  jewel." 

One  of  the  selectest  household  libraries  in 
America  has  lately  been  left  desolate.  Our  new 
Minister  to  Spain  leaves  behind  him  a  family  of 
"literary  magnificos"  at  Elmwood  not  easily  to 
be  surpassed  anywhere ;  and  although  we  are  all 
proud  of  the  call  his  country  sends  him  to  aid 
and  honor  her  in  the  land  of  Cervantes,  we 
lament  the  necessary  absence  which  now  renders 
it  impossible  for  our  beloved  professor  to  give, 
as  his  wonted  address,  "Among  my  Books." 

I  scarcely  know  a  greater  pleasure  than  to  be 
allowed  for  a  whole  day  to  spend  the  hours  unmo- 
lested in  my  friend  A.'s  library.  So  much  priv- 
ilege abounds  there,  I  call  it  Urbanity  Hall.  It  is 
a  plain,  modestly  appointed  apartment,  overlook- 
ing a  broad  sheet  of  water ;  and  I  can  sec,  from 
where  I  like  to  sit  and  read,  the  sail-boats  go  tilt- 
ing by,  and  glancing  across  the  bay.  Sometimes, 
when  a  rainy  day  sets  in,  I  run  down  to  my 
friend's  house,  and  ask  leave  to  browse  about  the 
library,  —  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  reading,  as 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  11 

for  the  intense  enjoyment  I  have  in  turning  over 
the  books  that  have  a  personal  history  attached. 
Many  of  them  once  belonged  to  authors  whose 
libraries  have  been  dispersed.  My  friend  has 
enriched  her  editions  with  autographic  notes  of 
those  fine  spirits  who  wrote  the  books  which  illu- 
mine her  shelves,  so  that  one  is  constantly  coming 
upon  some  fresh  treasure  in  the  way  of  a  literary 
curiosity.  I  am  apt  to  discover  something  new 
every  time  I  take  down  a  folio  or  a  miniature 
volume.  As  I  ramble  on  from  shelf  to  shelf, 
"  Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures," 
and  the  hours  often  slip  by  into  the  afternoon, 
and  glide  noiselessly  into  twilight,  before  dinner- 
time is  remembered. 

Drifting  about  only  a  few  days  ago,  I  came  by 
accident  upon  a  magic  quarto,  shabby  enough  in 
its  exterior,  with  one  of  the  covers  hanging  by 
the  eyelids^  and  otherwise  sadly  battered,  to  the 
great  disfigurement  of  its  external  aspect.  I  did 
not  remember  even  to  have  seen  it  in  the  library 
before  (it  turned  out  to  be  a  new-comer),  and  was 
about  to  pass  it  by  with  an  unkind  thought  as  to 


12  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

its  pauper  condition,  when,  it  occurred  to  me,  RS 
the  lettering  was  obliterated  from  the  back,  I 
might  as  well  open  to  the  title-page  and  learn  the 
name  at  least  of  the  tattered  stranger.  And  I 
was  amply  rewarded  for  the  attention.  It  turned 
out  to  be  "  The  Novels  and  Tales  of  the  Renowned 
John  Boccaccio,  The  first  Refiner  of  Italian  Prose  : 
containing  A  Hundred  Curious  Novels,  by  Seven 
Honorable  Ladies  and  Three  Noble  Gentlemen, 
Framed  in  Ten  Days."  It  was  printed  in  London 
in  1684,  "for  Awnsham  Churchill,  at  the  Black 
Swan  at  Amen  Corner."  But  what  makes  this  old 
yellow-leaved  book  a  treasure-volume  for  all  time 
is  the  inscription  on  the  first  fly-leaf,  in  the  hand- 
writing of  a  man  of  genius,  who,  many  years  ago, 
wrote  thus  on  the  blank  page :  — 

"  To  MARIAXXE  HUNT. 

"  Her  Boccaccio  (alter  et  idem)  come  back  to  her  after 
many  years'  absence,  for  her  good-nature  in  giving  it 
away  in  a  foreign  country  to  a  traveller  whose  want  of 
books  was  still  worse  than  her  own. 
"  From  her  affectionate  husband, 

LEIGH  HUNT. 
"August  23,  1839  —  CHELSEA,  ENGLAND." 


MY  FR/KND-S  LTBRARJ.  13 

This  record  tells  a  most  interesting  story,  and 
reveals  to  us  an  episode  in  the  life  of  the  poet, 
well  worth  the  knowing.  I  hope  no  accident  will 
ever  cancel  this  old  leather-bound  veteran  from 
the  world's  bibliographic  treasures.  Spare  it,  Fire, 
Water,  and  Worms  !  for  it  does  the  heart  good  to 
handle  such  a  quarto. 

One  does  not  need  to  look  far  among  the  shelves 
in  my  friend's  library  to  find  companion-gems  of 
this  antiquated  tome.  Among  so  many  of 

"The  assembled  souls  of  all  that  men  held  wise," 

there  is  no  solitude  of  the  mind.  I  reach  out 
my  hand  at  random,  and,  lo !  the  first  edition  of 
Milton's  "Paradise  Lost"!  It  is  a  little  brown 
volume,  "Printed  by  S.  Simmons,  and  to  be 
sold  by  S.  Thomson  at  the  Bishop's-Head  ill 
Duck  Lane,  by  H.  Mortlack  at  the  White  Hart 
in  Westminster  Hall,  M.  Walker  under  St.  Dun- 
stan's  Church  in  Fleet  Street,  and  R.  Boulten 
at  the  Turk's  Head  in  Bishopsgate  Street,  1668." 
Foolish  old  Simmons  deemed  it  necessary  to  insert 
over  his  own  name  the  following  notice,  which 
heads  the  Argument  to  the  Poem  :  — • 


14  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

"THE  PRINTER  TO  THE  READER. 
"  Courteous  Reader,  There  was  no  Argument  at  first 
intended  to  the  Book,  but  for  the  satisfaction  of  many 
that  have  desired  it,  I  have  procured  it,  and  withall  a 
reason  of  that  which  stumbled  many  others,  why  the 
Poem  Rimes  not." 

The  "  Argument,"  which  Milton  omitted  in  sub- 
sequent editions,  is  very  curious  throughout ;  and 
the  reason  which  the  author  gives,  at  the  request 
of  Mr.  Publisher  Simmons,  why  the  poem  "Rimes 
not,"  is  quaint  and  well  worth  transcribing  an 
extract  here,  as  it  does  not  always  appear  in  more 
modern  editions.  Mr.  Simmons's  Poet  is  made 
to  say, — 

"The  Measure  is  English  Heroic  Verse  without 
Rime,  as  that  of  Homers  in  Greek,  and  of  Virgil  in 
Latin;  Rime  being  no  necessary  Adjunct  or  true  Or- 
nament of  Poem  or  good  Verse,  in  longer  Works  espe- 
cially, but  the  Invention  of  a  barbarous  Age,  to  set  off 
wretched  matter  and  lame  Meeter  ;  grac't  indeed  since 
by  the  use  of  some  famous  modern  Poets,  carried  away 
by  Custom,  but  much  to  thir  own  vexation,  hindrance, 
and  constraint  to  express  many  things  otherwise,  and 


MY  FRIEND'S   LIBRARY.  15 

for  the  most  part  worse  then  else  they  would  have  ex- 
prest  them." 

We  give  the  orthography  precisely  as  Milton 
gave  it  in  this  his  first  edition. 

There  is  a  Table  of  Errata  prefixed  to  this  old 
copy,  in  which  the  reader  is  told, 

"for  hundreds  read  himderds. 
" for  we  read  wee." 

Master  Simrnons's  proof-reader  was  no  adept  in 
his  art,  if  one  may  judge  from  the  countless  errors 
which  he  allowed  to  creep  into  this  immortal 
poem  when  it  first  appeared  in  print.  One  can 
imagine  the  identical  copy  now  before  ns  being 
handed  over  the  counter  in  Duck  Lane  to  some 
eager  scholar  on  the  lookout  for  a  new  sensation, 
and  handed  back  again  to  Mr.  Thomson  as  too 
dull  a  looking  poem  for  his  perusal.  Mr.  Edmund 
Waller  entertained  that  idea  of  it,  at  any  rate. 

One  of  the  sturdiest  little  books  in  my  friend's 
library  is  a  thick-set,  stumpy  old  copy  of  Richard 
Baxter's  "  Holy  Commonwealth,"  written  in  1659, 
and,  as  the  title-page  informs  us,  uat  the  invita- 


16  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

tion  of  James  Harrington  Esquire,"  —  as  one 
would  take  a  glass  of  Canary,  —  by  invitation  ! 
There  is  a  preface  addressed  "  To  all  those  in  the 
Army  or  elsewhere,  that  have  caused  our  many 
and  great  Eclipses  since  1646."  The  worms  have 
made  dagger-holes  through  and  through  the  "  in- 
spired leaves  "  of  this  fat  little  volume,  till  much 
strong  thinking  is  now  very  perforated  printing. 
On  the  fly-leaf  is  written,  in  a  rough,  straggling 
hand, 

"  WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH, 

"  Ryclal  Mount." 

The  poet  seems  to  have  read  the  old  book  pretty 
closely,  for  there  are  evident  marks  of  his  liking 
throughout  its  pages. 

Connected  with  the  Bard  of  the  Lakes  is  an- 
other work  in  my  friend's  library,  which  I  always 
handle  with  a  tender  interest.  It  is  a  copy  of 
Wordsworth's  Poetical  Works,  printed  in  1815, 
with  all  the  alterations  afterwards  made  in  the 
pieces  copied  in  by  the  poet  from  the  edition  pub- 
lished in  1827.  Some  of  the  changes  are  marked 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  17 

improvements,  and  nearly  all  make  the  meaning 
clearer.  Now  and  then  a  prosaic  phrase  gives 
place  to  a  more  poetical  expression.  The  well- 
known  lines, 

"Of  Him  who  walked  in  glory  and  in  joy, 
Following  his  plough  along  the  mountain-side," 

read  at  first, 

"Behind  his  plough  upon  the  mountain-side." 

In  a  well-preserved  quarto  copy  of  "  Rasselas," 
with  illustrations  by  Smirke,  which  my  friend 
picked  up  in  London  a  few  years  ago,  I  found  the 
other  day  an  unpublished  autograph  letter  from 
Dr.  Johnson,  so  characteristic  of  the  great  man 
that  it  is  worth  transcribing.  It  is  addressed 

"  To  the  Reverend  Mr.  Compton. 
"  To  be  sent  to  Mrs.  Williams" 

And  it  is  thus  worded  :  — 

"  SIR,  —  Your  business,  I  suppose,  is  in  a  way  of  as 
easy  progress  as  such  business  ever  has.  It  is  seldom 
that  event  keeps  pace  with  expectation. 

"  The  scheme  of  your  book  I  cannot  say  that  I  fully 
comprehend.  I  would  not  have  you  ask  less  than  an 
hundred  guineas,  for  it  seems  a  large  octavo. 


18  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

"  Go  to  Mr.  Davis,  in  Russell  Street,  show  him  this 
letter,  and  show  him  the  book  if  he  desires  to  see  it. 
He  will  tell  you  what  hopes  you  may  form,  and  to 
what  Bookseller  you  should  apply. 

"  If  you  succeed  in  selling  your  book,  you  may  do 
better  than  by  dedicating  it  to  me.  You  may  perhaps 
obtain  permission  to  dedicate  it  to  the  Bishop  of  Lon- 
don, or  to  Dr.  Vyse,  and  make  way  by  your  book  to 
more  advantage  than  I  can  procure  you. 

"  Please  to  tell  Mrs.  Williams  that  I  grow  better, 
and  that  I  wish  to  know  how  she  goes  on.  You,  Sir, 
may  write  for  her  to, 

"  Sir, 
"  Your  most  humble  Servant, 

"  SAM  :  JOHXSOX. 
"Oclo  24,  1782." 

Dear  kind-hearted  old  bear!  On  turning  to 
Boswell's  Life  of  his  Ursine  Majesty,  we  learn  who 
Mr.  Compton  was.  When  the  Doctor  visited 
France  in  1775,  the  Benedictine  Monks  in  Paris 
entertained  him  in  the  most  friendly  way.  One 
of  them,  the  Rev.  James  Compton,  who  had  left 
England  at  the  early  age  of  six  to  reside  on  the 
Continent,  questioned  him  pretty  closely  about 


MY  FRIEXD-S  LIBRARY.  19 

the  Protestant  faith,  and  proposed,  if  at  some  fu- 
ture time  he  should  go  to  England  to  consider  the 
subject  more  deeply,  to  call  at  Bolt  Court.  la 
the  summer  of  1782  he  paid  the  Doctor  a  visit, 
and  informed  him  of  his  desire  to  be  admitted 
into  the  Church  of  England.  Johnson  managed 
the  matter  satisfactorily  for  him,  and  he  was  re- 
ceived into  communion  in  St.  James's  Parish 
Church.  Till  the  end  of  January,  1783,  he  lived 
entirely  at  the  Doctor's  expense,  his  own  means 
being  very  scanty.  Through  Johnson's  kindness 
he  was  nominated  Chaplain  at  the  French  Chapel 
of  St.  James's,  and  in  1802  we  hear  of  him  as 
being  quite  in  favor  with  the  excellent  Bishop 
Porteus  and  several  other  distinguished  London- 
ers. Thus,  by  the  friendly  hand  of  the  hard- 
working, earnest  old  lexicographer,  Mr.  Compton 
was  led  £rom  deep  poverty  up  to  a  secure  compe- 
tency, and  a  place  among  the  influential  digni- 
taries of  London  society.  Poor  enough  himself, 
Johnson  never  fell  back,  when  there  was  an 
honest  person  in  distress  to  be  helped  on  in  the 
battle  of  life.  God's  blessing  on  his  memory  for 
all  his  sympathy  with  strug;.;-lh^  humanity  ! 


20    *  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

My  friend  has  an  ardent  affection  for  Walter 
Scott  and  Charles  Lamb.  I  find  the  first  edition 
of  "Marmion,"  printed  in  1808,  "by  J.  Ballan- 
tyne  &  Co.  for  Archibald  Constable  and  Company, 
Edinburgh,"  most  carefully  bound  in  savory  Rus- 
sia, standing  in  a  pleasant  corner  of  the  room. 
Being  in  quarto,  the  type  is  regal.  Of  course  the 
copy  is  enriched  with  a  letter  in  the  handwriting 
of  Sir  Walter.  It  is  addressed  to  a  personal 
friend,  and  is  dated  April  17,  1825.  The  closing 
passage  in  it  is  of  especial  interest. 

"  I  have  seen  Sheridan's  last  letter  imploring  Rogers 
to  come  to  his  assistance.  It  stated  that  he  was  dying, 
and  concluded  abruptly  with  these  words  'they  are 
throwing  the  things  out  of  window.'  The  memorialist 
certainly  took  pennyworths  out  of  his  friend's  charac- 
ter. —  I  sat  three  hours  for  my  picture  to  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence  during  which  the  whole  conversation  was 
filled  up  by  Rogers  with  stories  of  Sheridan,  for  the 
least  of  which  if  true  he  deserved  the  gallows. 
"  Ever  Yours, 

"WALTER  SCOTT." 

In  the  April  of  1802  Scott  was  living  in  a  pretty 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  .21 

cottage  at  Lasswade  •  and  while  there  he  sent  off 
the  following  letter,  which  I  find  attached  with  a 
wafer  to  my  friend's  copy  of  the  Abbotsford  edi- 
tion of  his  works,  and  written  in  a  much  plainer 
hand  than  he  afterwards  fell  into.  The  address 
is  torn  off. 

"  SIR,  —  I  esteem  myself  honored  by  the  polite  re- 
ception which  you  have  given  to  the  Border  Min- 
strelsy and  am  particularly  flattered  that  so  very  good 
a  judge  of  poetical  Antiquities  finds  any  reason  to  be 
pleased  with  the  work.  —  There  is  no  portrait  of  the 
Flower  of  Yarrow  in  existence,  nor  do  I  think  it  very 
probable  that  any  was  ever  taken.  Much  family  anec- 
dote concerning  her  has  been  preserved  among  her 
descendants  of  whom  I  have  the  honor  to  be  one. 
The  epithet  of  '  Floiver  of  Yarroiv '  was  in  later  times 
bestowed  upon  one  of  her  immediate  posterity,  Miss 
Mary  Lillks  Scott,  daughter  of  John  Scott  Esq.  of 
Harden,  and  celebrated  for  her  beauty  in  the  pastoral 
song  of  Tweedside,  —  I  mean  that  set  of  modern  words 
which  begins  '  What  beauty  does  Flora  disclose/ 
This  lady  I  myself  remember  very  well,  and  I  men- 
tion her  to  you  lest  you  should  receive  any  inaccurate 
information  owing  to  her  being  called  like  her  prede- 


22  MY  FRIEXD'S  LIBRARY. 

cessor  the  *  Flower  of  Yarrow.'  There  was  a  portrait 
of  this  latter  lady  in  the  collection  at  Hamilton  which 
the  present  Duke  transferred  through  my  hands  to 
Lady  Diana  Scott  relict  of  the  late  Walter  Scott  Esq. 
of  Harden,  which  picture  was  vulgarly  but  inaccurately 
supposed  to  have  been  a  resemblance  of  the  original 
Mary  Scott,  daughter  of  Philip  Scott  of  Dryhope,  and 
married  to  Auld  Wat  of  Harden  in  the  middle  of  the 
16th  century. 

"  I  shall  be  particularly  happy  if  upon  any  future 
occasion  I  can  in  the  slightest  degree  contribute  to 
advance  your  valuable  and  patriotic  labours,  and  I  re- 
main, Sir,  "  Your  very  faithful 

"and  ob*.  Servant 

"WALTER  SCOTT." 

Old  Bernard  Lintott,  at  the  Cross-Keys  in  Fleet 
Street,  brought  out  in  1714  "The  Rape  of  the 
Lock,  an  Heroi-Comical  Poem,  in  Five  Cantos, 
written  by  Mr.  Pope."  He  printed  certain  \sords 
in  the  title-page  in  red,  and  other  certain  words 
in  .black  ink.  His  own  name  and  Mr.  Pope's  be 
chose  to  exhibit  in  sanguinary  tint.  A  copy  of 
this  edition,  very  much  thumbed  and  wanting  half 
a  dozen  leaves,  fell  into  the  possession  of  Charles 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  23 

Lamb  more  than  a  hundred  years  after  it  was  pub- 
lished. Charles  bore  it  home,  and  set  to  work 
at  once  to  supply,  in  his  small  neat  hand,  from 
another  edition,  what  was  missing  from  the  text 
in  his  stall- bought  copy.  As  he  paid  only  sixpence 
for  his  prize,  he  could  well  afford  the  time  it  took 
him  to  write  in  on  blank  leaves,  which  he  inserted, 
the  lines  from 

"Thus  far  both  armies  to  Belinda  yield/' 
onward  to  the  couplet, 

"And  thrice  they  twitch'd  the  Diamond  in  her  Ear, 
Thrice  she  look'd  back,  and  thrice  the  Foe  drew  near." 

Besides  this  autographic  addition,  enhancing 
forever  the  value  of  this  old  copy  of  Pope's  im- 
mortal poem,  I  find  the  following  little  note,  in 
Lamb's  clerkly  chirography,  addressed  to 

"  Mr.  Wainright,  on  Thursday. 

"  DEAR  SIR,  —  The  Wits  (as  Clare  calls  us)  assemble 
at  my  cell  (20  Russell  Street,  Cov.  Gar.)  this  evening 

at  \  before  7.     Cold  meat  at  9.     Puns  at  a  little 

after.  Mp,  Gary  wants  to  see  you,  to  scold  you.  I 
hope  you  will  not  fail. 

"  Yours  &c.  «fec.  &c. 

"  C.  LAMB." 


24  J/F  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

There  are  two  books  in  my  friend's  library 
which  once  belonged  to  the  author  of  the  "  Elegy 
in  a  Country  Churchyard."  One  of  them  is  "  A 
Voyage  to  and  from  the  Island  of  Borneo,  in  the 
East  Indies  :  printed  for  T.  Warner  at  the  Black 
Boy,  and  F.  Batley  at  the  Dove,  in  1718."  It 
has  the  name  of  T.  Gray,  written  by  himself,  in 
the  middle  of  the  title-page,  as  was  his  custom 
always.  Before  Gray  owned  this  book,  it  belonged 
to  Mr.  Antrobus,  his  uncle,  who  wrote  many  origi- 
nal notes  in  it.  The  volume  has  also  this  manu- 
script memorandum  on  one  of  the  fly-leaves, 
signed  by  a  well-known  naturalist  not  long  ago 
•living  in  England  :  — 

"  August  28,  1851. 

"  This  book  has  Gray's  autograph  on  the  title-page, 
written  in  his  usual  neat  hand.  It  has  twice  been 
my  fate  to  witness  the  sale  of  Gray's  most  interesting 
collection  of  manuscripts  and  books,  and  at  the  last 
sale  I  purchased  this  volume.  I  present  it  to  — 
as  a  little  token  of  affectionate  regard  by  her  old 
friend,  now  in  his  85th  year. 

"EDWD.  JESSE." 

Who  will  not  be  willing  to  admit   the   great 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 


good-luck  of  my  friend   in  having   such  a   donor 
for  an  acquaintance  ? 

But  one  of  the  chief  treasures  in  the  library 
of  which  I  write  is  Gray's  copy  of  Milton's  "  Po- 
ems upon  several  occasions.  Both  English  and 
Latin.  Printed  at  the  Blew  Anchor  next  Mitre 
Court  over  against  Fetter  Lane  in  Fleet  Street." 
When  a  boy  at  school,  Gray  owned  and  read  this 
charming  old  volume,  and  he  has  printed  his 
name,  school-boy  fashion,  all  over  the  title-page. 
Wherever  there  is  a  vacant  space  big  enough  to 
hold  Thomas  Gray,  there  it  stands  in  faded  ink, 
still  fading  as  time  rolls  on.  The  Latin  poems 
seem  to  have  been  most  carefully  conned  by  the 
youthful  Etonian,  and  we  know  how  much  he 
esteemed  them  in  after-life. 

Scholarly  Robert  Southey  once  owned  a  book 
that  now  towers  aloft  in  my  friend's  library.  It 
is  a  princely  copy  of  Ben  Jonson,  the  Illustrious. 
Southey  lent  it,  when  he  possessed  the  magnifico, 
to  Coleridge,  who  has  begemmed  it  all  over  with 


26  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

his  fine  pencillings.  As  Ben  once  handled  the 
trowel,  and  did  other  honorable  work  as  a  brick- 
layer, Coleridge  discourses  with  much  golden  gos- 
sip about  the  craft  to  which  the  great  dramatist 
once  belonged.  My  friend  would  hardly  thank 
me,  if  I  filled  ten  of  these  pages  with  extracts 
from  the  rambling  dissertations  in  S.  T.  C.'s  hand- 
writing which  I  find  in  her  rare  folio,  but  I  could 
easily  pick  out  that  amount  of  readable  matter 
from  the  margins.  One  manuscript  anecdote, 
however,  I  must  transcribe  from  the  last  leaf.  I 
think  Coleridge  got  the  story  from  "  The  Seer." 

"  An  Irish  laborer  laid  a  wager  with  another  hod- 
bearer  that  the  latter  could  not  carry  him  up  the  lad- 
der to  the  top  of  a  house  in  his  hod,  without  letting 
him  fall.  The  bet  is  accepted,  and  up  they  go.  There 
is  peril  at  every  step.  At  the  top  of  the  ladder  there 
is  life  and  the  loss  of  the  wager,  —  death  and  success 
below !  The  highest  point  is  reached  in  safety  ;  the 
wagerer  looks  humbled  and  disappointed.  'Well,' 
said  he,  'you  have  won;  there  is  no  doubt  of  that; 
worse  luck  to  you  another  time  ;  but  at  the  third 
story  I  HAD  HOPES.'  " 

In  a  quaint   old  edition  of  "  The    Spectator," 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  27 

which  seems  to  have  been  through  many  sieges, 
und  must  have  come  to  grief  very  early  in  its 
existence,  if  one  may  judge  anything  from  the 
various  names  which  are  scrawled  upon  it  in 
different  years,  reaching  back  almost  to  the  date 
of  its  publication,  I  find  this  note  in  the  hand- 
writing of  Addison,  sticking  fast  on  the  reverse 
side  of  his  portrait.  It  is  addressed  to  Ambrose 
Philips,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  went  where 
he  was  bidden,  and  found  the  illustrious  author 
quite  ready  to  receive  him  at  a  well-furnished 
table. 

"Tuesday  Night. 

"SiR,  —  If  you  are  at  leisure  for  an  hour,  your 
company  will  be  a  great  obligation  to 

"Yr.  most  humble  sev*. 

"J.  ADDISON. 
"Fountain  Tavern." 

That  night  at  the  "  Fountain,"  perchance,  they 
discussed  that  war  of  words  which  might  then 
have  been  raging  between  the  author  of  the  "  Pas- 
torals" and  Mr.  Pope,  dampening  their  clay,  at 
the  same  time,  with  a  compound  to  which  they 
were  both  notoriously  inclined. 


28  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

My  friend  rides  hard  her  hobby  for  choice  edi- 
tions, and  she  hunts  with  a  will  whenever  a  good 
old  copy  of  a  well-beloved  author  is  up  for  pur- 
suit. She  is  not  a  fop  in  binding,  but  she  must 
have  approjyriate  dresses  for  her  favorites.  She 
knows  what 

"Adds  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye" 

as  well  as  Hayday  himself,  and  never  lets  her 
folios  shiver  when  they  ought  to  be  warm.  More- 
over, she  reads  her  books,  and,  like  the  scholar 
in  Chaucer,  would  rather  have 

"  At  her  beddes  head 

A  twenty  bokes,  clothed  in  black  and  red, 
Of  Aristotle  and  his  philosophy, 
Than  robes  rich,  or  fiddle,  or  psaltrie." 

I  found  her  not  long  ago  deep  in  a  volume  of 
"  Mr.  Welsted's  Poems " ;  and  as  that  author  is 
not  particularly  lively  or  inviting  to  a  modern 
reader,  I  begged  to  know  why  he  was  thus  hon- 
ored. "  I  was  trying,"  said  sbe,  "  to  learn,  if 
possible,  why  Dicky  Steele  should  have  made  his 
daughter  a  birthday  gift  of  these  poems.  This 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  29 

copy  I  found  on  a  stall  in  Fleet  Street  many  years 
ago,  and  it  has  in  Sir  Richard's  handwriting  this' 
inscription  on  one  of  the  fly-leaves  :  — 

ELIZABETH  STEELE 

Her  Book 
Giv'n  by  Her  Father 

EICHARD  STEELE. 
March  2Cth.  1723. 

Running  my  eye  over  the  pieces,  I  find  a  poem 
in  praise  of  '  Apple-Pye/  and  one  of  the  passages 
in  it  is  marked,  as  if  to  call  the  attention  of 
young  Eliza  to  something  worthy  her  notice. 
These  are  the  lines  the  young  lady  is  charged 
to  remember  :  — 

'  Dear  Nelly,  learn  with  Care  the  Pastry- Art, 
And  mind  the  easy  Precepts  I  impart : 
Draw  out  your  Dough  elaborately  thin, 
And  cease  not  to  fatigue  your  Rolling-Pin  : 
Of  Eggs  and  Butter  see  you  mix  enough  ; 
For  then  the  Paste  will  swell  into  a  Puff, 
Which  will  in  crumpling  Sounds  your  Praise  report, 
And  eat,  as  Housewives  speak,  exceeding  short.'  " 

Who  was  Abou  Ben  Adhem  1     Was  his  exist- 
ence merely  in  the  poet's  brain,  or  did  he  walk 


30  31 Y  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

this  planet  somewhere, — and  when?  In  a  copy 
'  of  the  "  Bibliotheque  Orientale,"  which  once  be- 
longed to  the  author  of  that  exquisite  little  gem 
of  poesy  beginning  with  a  wish  that  Abou's  tribe 
might  increase,  I  find  (the  leaf  is  lovingly  turned 
down  and  otherwise  noted)  the  following  account 
of  the  forever  famous  dreamer. 

"Adhem  was  the  name  of  a  Doctor  celebrated  for 
Mussulman  traditions.  He.  was  the  contemporary  of 
Aamarsch,  another  relater  of  traditions  of  the  first 
class.  Adhem  had  a  son  noted  for  his  doctrine  and 
his  piety.  The  Mussulmans  place  him  among  the 
number  of  their  Saints  who  have  done  miracles.  He 
was  named  Abou-Ishak-Ben-Adhem.  It  is  said  he 
was  distinguished  for  his  piety  from  .his  earliest  youth, 
and  that  he  joined  the  Sons,  or  the  Religious  sect  in 
Mecca,  under  the  direction  of  Fodhail.  He  went  from 
there  to  Damas,  where  he  died  in  the  year  166  of  the 
Hegira.  He  undertook,  it  is  said,  to  make  a  pilgrim- 
age from  Mecca,  and  to  pass  through  the  desert  alone 
and  without  provisions,  making  a  thousand  genuflex- 
ions for  every  mile  of  the  way.  It  is  added  that  he 
was  twelve  years  in  making  this  journey,  during  which 
he  was  often  tempted  and  alarmed  by  Demons.  The 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  31 

Khalife  Haroun  Raschid,  making  the  same  pilgrimage, 
met  him  upon  the  way  and  inquired  after  his  welfare  ; 
the  Soft  answered  him  with  an  Arabian  quatrain,  of 
which  this  is  the  meaning  :  — 

"  '  We  mend  the  rags  of  this  worldly  robe  with  the 
pieces  of  the  robe  of  Religion,  which  we  tear  apart  for 
this  end  ; 

"  '  And  we  do  our  work  so  thoroughly  that  nothing 
remains  of  the  latter, 

"  '  And  the  garment  w^  mend  escapes  out  of  our 
hands. 

" '  Happy  is  the  servant  who  has  chosen  God  for 
his  master,  and  who  employs  his  present  good  only 
to  acquire  those  which  he  awaits/ 

"It  is  related  also  of  Abou,  that  he  saw  in  a 
dream  an  Angel  who  wrote,  and  that  having  de- 
manded what  he  was  doing,  the  Angel  answered,  'I 
write  the  names  of  those  who  love  God  sincerely, 
those  who  perform  Malek-Ben-Dinar,  Thabel-al-Be- 
nani,  Aioud-al-Sakhtiani,  etc.'  Then  said  he  to  the 
Angel,  'Am  I  not  placed  among  these?'  'No,'  re- 
plied the  Angel.  '  Ah,  well,'  said  he,  '  write  me, 
then,  I  pray  you,  for  love  of  these,  as  the  friend  of 
all  who  love  the  Lord.'  It  is  added,  that  the  same 
Angel  revealed  to  him  soon  after  that  he  had  received 


32  My  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

an  order  from  God  to  place  him  at  the  head  of  all 
the  rest.  This  is  the  same  Abou  who  said  that  he 
preferred  Hell  with  the  will  of  God  to  Paradise  with- 
out it ;  or,  as  another  writer  relates  it  :  *  I  love  Hell, 
if  I  am  doing  the  will  of  God,  better  than  the  enjoy- 
ments of  Paradise  and  disobedience.'" 

With  books  printed  by  "B.  Franklin,  Phila- 
delphia," my  friend's  library  is  richly  stored. 
One  of  them  is  "  The-  Charter  of  Privileges, 
granted  by  William  Penn  Esq  :  to  the  Inhabi- 
tants of  Pennsylvania  and  Territories."  "  PRINTED 
AND  SOLD  BY  B.  FRANKLIN"  looks  odd  enough 
on  the  dingy  title-page  of  this  old  volume,  and 
the  contents  are  full  of  interest.  Rough  days 
were  those  when  "Jehu  Curtis"  was  "Speaker 
of  the  House,"  and  put  his  name  to  such  docu- 
ments as  this :  — 

"  And  Be  it  Further  Enacted  by  the  authority  afore- 
said, That  if  any  Person  shall  wilfully  or  premedi- 
tately  be  guilty  of  Blasphemy,  and  shall  thereof 
be  legally  convicted,  the  Person  so  offending  shall, 
for  every  such  Offence,  be  set  in  the  Pillory  for  the 
space  of  Two  Hours,  and  be  branded  on  his  or  her 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  33 

Foreshead  with  ^  the  letter  B,  and  be  publickly  whipt, 
on  his  or  her  bare  Back,  with  Thirty  nine  Lashes 
wdl  laid  on" 

My  friend  is  a  collector  of  the  various  editions 
of  Hawthorne's  writings,  not  only  in  English 
but  in  various  languages.  Many  of  the  works 
she  has  illustrated  with  choice  engravings,  pho- 
tographs, and  autographs.  One  of  the  letters 
in  Hawthorne's  handwriting  thus  added  seems 
to  me  very  curious  in  its  accurate  foreshadow- 
ings.  It  was  written  forty-five  years  ago  to 
Franklin  Pierce,  when  both  young  men  could 
not  have  been  long  out  of  College.  Its  pro- 
phetic intimations  in  the  light  of  what  has  since 
occurred  in  Pierce's  career  sound  weird  and  start- 
ling and  the  epistle  is  worth  perusal.  It  is  ad- 
dressed to  Qblonel  Franklin  Pierce,  Hillsboro', 
New  Hampshire. 

"SALEM,  June  28,  1832. 

"DEAR  MR.  SPEAKER,  —  I  sincerely  congratulate 
you  on  all  your  public  honors,  in  possession  or  in 
prospect.  If  they  continue  to  accumulate  so  rapidly, 
you  will  be  at  the  summit  of  political  eminence  by 


34  MY  FRIEXD'S  LIBRARY. 

that  time  of  life  when  men  are  usually  just  begin- 
ning to  make  a  figure.  I  suppose  there  is  hardly  a 
limit  to  your  expectations  at  this  moment ;  and  I 
really  cannot  see  why  there  should  be  any.  If  I 
were  in  your  place  I  should  like  to  proceed  by  the 
following  steps,  —  after  a  few  years  in  Congress,  to 
be  chosen  Governor,  say  at  thirty  years  old,  —  next 
a  Senator  in  Congress,  —  then  minister  to  England,  — 
then  to  be  put  at  the  head  of  one  of  the  Departments 
(that  of  War  would  suit  you,  I  should  think),  and 
lastly  —  but  it  will  be  time  enough  to  think  of  the 
next  step  some  years  hence.  You  cannot  imagine 
how  proud  I  feel,  when  I  recollect  that  I  myself 
was  once  in  office  with  you  on  the  standing  Com- 
mittee of  the  Athenean  Society.  That  was  my  first 
and  last  appearance  in  public  life. 

"I  read  the  paper  which  you  sent  me  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  not  forgetting  Colonel  Pierce's  neat  and 

appropriate  address.     I  also  perused  's  speech  in 

favor  of  grog-shops  ;  he  seems  to  have  taken  quite  a 
characteristic  and  consistent  course  in  this  respect, 
and  I  presume  he  gives  the  retail  dealers  as  much  of 
his  personal  patronage  as  ever.  I  was  rather  sur- 
prised at  not  finding  more  of  my  acquaintance  in 

your  Legislature.     Your  own   name  and  's  were 

ull  that  I  recognized. 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  35 

"I  was  making  preparations  for  a  Northern  tour 
when  this  accursed  cholera  broke  out  in  Canada.  It 
was  my  intention  to  go  by  way  of  New  York  and 
Albany  to  Niagara  ;  from  thence  to  Montreal  and 
Quebec,  and  home  through  Vermont  and  New  Hamp- 
shire. I  am  very  desirous  of  making  this  journey  on 
account  of  a  book  by  which  I  intend  to  acquire  an 
(undoubtedly)  immense  literary  reputation,  but  which 
I  cannot  commence  writing  till  I  have  visited  Can- 
ada. I  still  hope  that  the  pestilence  will  disappear, 
so  that  it  may  be  safe  to  go  in  a  month  or  two.  If 
my  route  brings  me  into  the  vicinity  of  Hillsboro'  I 
shall  certainly  visit  you.  As  to  the  cholera,  if  it 
comes,  I  believe  I  shall  face  it  here.  By  the  by,  I 
have  been  afflicted  for  two  days  past  with  one  of  the 
symptoms  of  it,  which  makes  me  write  rather  a  trem- 
ulous hand.  J.  keep  it  secret,  however,  for  fear  of 
being  sent  to  the  hospital. 

"I  suppose  your  election  to  Congress  is  absolutely 
certain.  Of  course,  however,  there  will  be  an  oppo- 
sition, and  I  wish  you  would  send  me  some  of  the 
newspapers  containing  articles  either  laudatory  or 
abusive  of  you.  I  shall  read  them  with  great  inter- 
est, be  they  what  they  may.  It  is  a  pity  that  I  am 
not  in  a  situation  to  exercise  my  pen  in  your  behalf, 


36  AfY  FRIEN&S  LIBRARY. 

though  you  seem  not  to  need  the  assistance  of  news- 
paper scribblers. 

"I  do  not  feel  very  well,  and  will  close  my  letter 
here,  especially  as  your  many  associations  would  not 
permit  you  to  read  a  longer  one.  I  shall  be  happy 
to  hear  from  you  as  often  as  you  can  find  leisure 
and  inclination  to  write. 

"I  observe  that  the  paper  styles  you  the  'Hon. 
Franklin  Pierce.'  Have  you  already  an  official  claim 
to  that  title  ? 

"  Your  friend, 

"NATH.  HAWTHORNE, 

"alias,  'HATH.'" 

The  first  edition  of  the  "Pickwick  Papers" 
has  now  grown  to  be  a  rare  volume,  and  is  not 
readily  picked  up  even  in  London.  Dickens  was 
not  the  owner  of  a  copy,  and  long  desired  to 
possess  one  on  account  of  the  early  impressions 
of  the  forty-three  illustrations  in  it  by  Seymour 
and  "  Phiz."  One  day  my  friend  A.  was  stroll- 
ing about  London,  and  coming  into  the  Hay- 
market  observed  a  bookseller  placing  in  his  win- 
dow a  handsomely  bound  volume  in  red  morocco. 
She  had  got  by,  but  some  good  genius  whis- 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  37 

pered  to  her,  "Turn  back, — that  is  a  book  you 
have  long  burned  to  become  the  owner  of ! " 
"  Go  on  ! "  insinuated  another  kind  of  genius ; 
"you  will  be  late  to  dinner  if  you  loiter  another 
moment !  "  She  turned  back,  notwithstanding, 
and  bought  the  book :  it  was  the  first  edition 
of  "  Pickwick  "  !  Mark  her  good  luck,  reader ! 
Taking  the  book  to  her  hotel,  she  laid  it  on  the 
table  and  went  out  again  after  dinner.  Return- 
ing late  in  the  evening  she  found  Dickens  had 
called  upon  her :  the  volume  was  lying  open, 
and  this  inscription,  in  a  well-known  hand,  en- 
riched her  prize  :  — 

CHARLES   DICKENS 
Wishes  heliad  given  this  First  Edition  of  Pickwick 

TO    HIS    FRIENDS, 
*  *  *  * 

In  Witness  that  he  did  not, 
He,  at  Edward's  Hotel,  George  Street, 

Hanover  Square,  London, 
Hereunto  sets  his  hand, 

On  Saturday,  24th  July,  1869. 

C.  D. 

And  this  precious  volume,  thus  enriched,  is  not 
the  least  among  my  friend's  possessions. 


38  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

My  friend  has  a  habit  of  placing  on  the  fly- 
leaves of  many  of  her  books  any  interesting,  out- 
of-the-way  things  she  may  happen  to  find  with 
reference  to  their  authors,  —  a  custom  that  cannot 
be  too  warmly  commended  to  all  book-owners. 
How  welcome  is  such  a  record  as  this  one,  for  in- 
stance !  Nearly  fifty  years  ago  there  appeared  a 
charming  work  written  by  a  lieutenant  in  our 
navy,  named  Alexander  Slidell  Mackenzie,  enti- 
tled "A  Year  in  Spain,  by  a  Young  American." 
On  his  way  to  Segovia,  the  youthful  officer  fell  in 
with  a  stripling  fresh  from  the  State  of  Maine, 
unknown  at  that  time,  of  course,  but  who  has 
since  become  a  power  in  literature,  not  only  in  his 
own  country,  but  all  over  the  civilized  world. 
This  is  the  pleasant  glimpse  Mackenzie  gives  us 
of  the  Longfellow  of  half  a  century  ago  :  — 

"  Fortune,  in  a  happy  moment,  provided  a  compan- 
ion for  me  in  the  person  of  a  young  countryman,  who 
had  come  to  Spain  in  search  of  instruction.  He  was 
just  from  college,  full  of  the  ardent  feeling  excited  by 
classical  pursuits,  with  health  unbroken,  hope  that  was 
a  stranger  to  disappointment,  curiosity  which  had 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  39 

never  yet  been  fed  to  satiety.  He  had  sunny  locks, 
a  fresh  complexion,  and  a  clear  blue  eye,  —  all  indi- 
cations of  a  joyous  temperament.  We  had  been  thrown 
almost  alone  together  in  a  strange  and  unknown  land. 
Our  ages  were  not  dissimilar,  and,  though  our  previous 
occupations  had  been  so,  we  were  nevertheless  soon  ac- 
quainted, first  with  each  other,  then  with  each  other's 
views,  and  presently  after  we  had  agreed  to  be  com- 
panions on  the  journey." 

On  the  same  leaf  with  this  extract  I  find  in- 
serted these  words  by  Cardinal  Wiseman,  spoken 
forty  years  after  Mackenzie  met  young  Long- 
fellow in  Spain  :  — 

"  Our  hemisphere  cannot  claim  the  honor  of  having 
brought  him  forth,  but  he  still  belongs  to  us,  for  his 
works  have  become  household  words  wherever  the  lan- 
guage is  spoken.  I  am  sure  that  all  who  hear  my  voice 
will  join  with  me  in  the  tribute  I  pay  to  the  genius  of 
Longfellow." 

And  here  is  still  another  appended  tribute  in 
the  same  volume,  copied  from  the  Life  and  Letters 
of  a  distinguished  lady  in  England  :  — 

"  I  have  just  received  a  long  and  welcome  letter 


40  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

from  my  Boston  correspondent,  in  answer  to  one  I 
had  written  to  him  asking  for  some  particulars  about 
Longfellow,  whose  beautiful  poems  are  now  so  much 

read  here I   will   copy   some   of  my   friend's 

exact  words  about  the  poet,  as  they  are  sure  to  interest 
you.  'I  never  knew  a  man  of  more  endearing 
qualities.  He  has  no  little  animosities  ;  no  petty,  vin- 
dictive feelings  ;  and  if  he  can  help  any  poor,  envious 
creature  who  may  have  tried  to  wound  his  feelings  by 
a  malicious  or  ill-timed  criticism,  he  never  limits  his 
charity  on  that  account.  He  says,  "  If  we  could  read 
the  secret  history  of  our  enemies,  we  should  find  in 
each  man's  life  sorrow  and  suffering  enough  to  disarm 
all  hostility."  ....  Every  one  near  him  loves  him, 
and  his  neighbors  rejoice  in  his  fame  and  his  prosper- 
ity. He  always  has  a  good  word  to  put  in  for  any 
unfortunate  man  or  woman  who  happens  to  be  up  for 
conversational  dissection  ;  and  I  have  often  noticed, 
when  all  the  rest  of  the  company  have  been  busy  pull- 
ing to  "  shreds  and  patches "  some  new  and  ridiculous 
rhymer,  Longfellow  has  culled  and  got  ready  to  quote, 
in  the  dull  bard's  favor,  the  only  good  line  perhaps  in 
the  whole  volume.  I  never  saw  a  man  so  constantly 
on  the  lookout  to  aid  and  comfort,  and  never  by  any 
accident,  even,  to  depress  a  fellow-mortal.  If  any  one 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  41 

of  his  friends  is  ill,  he  is  the  first  person  who  remem- 
bers to  send  in  cheering  little  messages,  accompanied, 
perhaps,  by  some  sick-room  delicacy,  not  easily  to  be 
obtained  elsewhere,  for  the  patient.  I  have  lived,  as 
you  know,  a  long  time  among  authors,  but  I  never 
knew  one  so  absolutely  free  from  all  manner  of  vanities 
and  vices  as  Longfellow He  is  the  soul  of  good- 
nature and  candor  ;  and  his  whole  life  has  been  spent 
not  only  in  strengthening  the  foundations  of  truth  and 
justice,  but  in  lending  a  vigorous  helping  hand  to  all 
below  him  in  station  and  ability.  In  short,  he  is  one 
of  the  most  lovable  men  in  America,  as  well  as  the 
most  distinguished  poet.'" 

My  friend's  copy  of  "  Warton's  History  of  Eng- 
lish Poetry"  &  in  three  volumes  quarto,  and  it 
once  belonged  to  no  less  a  character  than  Mr. 
Horatio  Walpole,  of  Strawberry  Hill,  who  has  . 
packed  it  with  notes  in  his  own  neat  penman- 
ship. Some  former  owner  has  added  to  the  first 
volume  a  long  and  curious  autograph  letter  from 
Warton,  and  an  equally  interesting  epistle  in  Wai- 
pole's  handwriting.  It  is  curious  to  follow  the 
notes  in  this  edition,  and  see  how  carefully  Wal- 
pole has  studied  Warton  in  this  work.  He  seems 


42  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

to  have  been  specially  moved  by  the  earliest  Eng- 
lish love-song  on  record,  written  about  the  year 
1200,  and  beginning,  — 

"Blow  northerne  wynd,"  etc. 

Walpole  has  appended  this  note  at  the  bottom 
of  one  of  the  pages  in  Vol.  I.  in  ink  as  fresh  as  if 
it  had  been  written  to-day  :  — 

"  A  coachman  of  George  2d,  who  had  been  harassed 
by  driving  the  Maids  of  Honour,  left  his  fortune  to  his 
son,  but  with  a  promise  that  he  should  never  marry  a 
Maid  of  Honour/5 

Other  remarks,  both  in  pencil  and  ink,  by  Wal- 
pole, abound  in  the  volumes,  and  many  of  them 
are  as  keen  as  this  one  in  the  famous  letters  of 
the  brilliant  epigrammatist.  He  was,  it  seems, 
much  diverted  with  the  manoeuvres  of  a  certain 
Mrs.  Holmari,  "whose  passion,"  he  says,  "is  keep- 
ing an  assembly,  and  inviting  literally  everybody 
in  it.  She  goes  to  the  drawing-room  to  watch  for 
sneezes ;  whips  out  a  courtesy ;  and  then  sends 
next  morning  to  know  how  your  cold  does,  and  to 
desire  your  company  next  Thursday ! " 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  43 

All  over  the  margins  of  my  friend's  "  Warton " 
the  lord  of  Strawberry  Hill  is  constantly  finding 
fault  with  the  author,  correcting  his  proper  names 
and  worrying  his  statements.  Walpole  knew,  or 
pretended  to  know,  everybody,  not  only  of  his 
own  time,  but  of  all  time.  His  enemies  used  to 
say  he  bragged  a  good  deal  of  acquaintances  to 
whom  he  had  never  spoken  a  word.  Apropos  of 
this  charge  against  H.  W.,  we  had .  many  years 
ago  in  Paris  an  American  pretender  of  this  sort. 
When  my  fellow-traveller,  S.  G.,  arrived  in  the 
French  capital  twenty  years  ago,  this  all-knowing, 
forth-putting  countryman  of  ours  called  upon  him 
and  said  :  "  If  th^re  is  any  celebrity  you  care  to 
meet  among  the  French  authors,  I  shall  be  happy 
to  bring  you  together,  as  I  am  on  intimate  terms 
with  all  the  writers."  My  friend  was  an  admirer 
of  Victor  Hugo,  and  jumped  at  the  offer,  naming 
him  as  the  man  he  most  desired  to  see.  "  That 
shall  be  brought  about  shortly,"  replied  the  uni- 
versal intimate  of  everybody  worth  knowing  in 
Paris.  "  Victor  Hugo  and  I  are  very  old  friends, 
and  he  will  be  glad  to  see  you  on  my  account,"  he 


44  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

continued.  A  week  or  so  after  this  conversation, 
my  friend  was  at  one  of  Lamartine's  Sunday  recep- 
tions, and  stood  talking  some  time  with  a  gentle- 
man to  whom  Madame  Lamartine  had  presented 
him.  The  kind-hearted  American  who  had  prom- 
ised an  introduction  to  Hugo  was  also  in  the  room, 
and,  observing  G.  in  conversation  with  a  rather 
distinguished-looking  person,  came  up  when  they 
had  separated,  and  asked  G.  who  that  tall,  hand- 
some individual  might  be.  "  0,  that,"  said  G., 
with  freezing  nonchalance,  —  "  that  is  your  friend, 
Victor  Hugo!" 

Among  the  books  which  I  take  down  with 
special  delight  is  a  rough  old  copy  of  "  Diogenes 
Laertius  "  in  Greek  and  Latin.  It  belonged  to 
Shelley  and  Leigh  Hunt,  in  partnership,  and  has 
their  names  written  above  the  title-page  in  Hunt's 
best  hand,  thus,  — 

"  Percy  Shelley  and  Leigh  Hunt." 
It  seems  to  have  been  their  joint  property,  and, 
loving  each  other  as  they  did,  they  were  content 
to  own  it  together.     It  has  numerous  notes  in 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  45 

both  their  handwritings.  The  Greek  motto  from 
Plato,  which  Shelley  placed  at  the  beginning  of 
his  exquisite  Elegy  on  the  death  of  Keats,  has 
always  been  greatly  admired.  The  translation  is, 
"  You  shone,  whilst  living,  a  morning  star ;  but, 
dead,  you  now  shine  Hesperus  among  the  shades," 
and  it  was  written  by  Plato  on  his  friend  Stella. 
Laertius  preserved  it  among  his  own  writings,  and 
Shelley  copied  it  from  him.  More  than  fifty  years 
have  elapsed  since  this  precious  old  volume  went 
wandering  about  the  Continent  with  the  two  young 
English  poets,  and  was  thumbed  by  them  on  the 
decks  of  vessels,  in^the  chambers  of  out-of-the-way 
inns,  and  under  the  olive-trees  of  Pisa  and  Genoa. 
Half  a  century  has  gone  by,  and  lo !  the  worn 
and  battered  book  finds  itself,  after  all  its  jour- 
neys, safely  housed  and  cared  for  on  the  shelves 
of  my  friend's  library  in  a  street  in  Boston. 

There  are  few  things  in  Charlotte  Bronte's 
peculiar  chirography  more  touching  than  this 
note  of  September  the  29th,  1850,  addressed  to 
that  excellent  Mr.  Williams,  so  many  years  famil- 


46  MY  FRIEXD'S  LIBRARY. 

iar  to  all  who  were  in  the  habit  of  visiting  the  old 
publishing  house  of  Smith,  Elder,  and  Company, 
in  London.  I  find  the  original  placed  in  my 
friend's  copy  of  "  Jane  Eyre,"  with  this  caution 
written  opposite  :  "  Be  careful  not  to  disturb  this 
precious  document." 

"  DEAR  SIR,  —  It  is  my  intention  to  write  a  few  lines 
of  remark  on  'Wuthering  Heights/  which  however  I 
propose  to  place  apart  as  a  brief  preface  before  the 
tale.  I  am  likewise  compelling  myself  to  read  it 
over,  for  the  first  time  of  opening  the  book  since 
my  sister's  death.  Its  power  fills  me  with  renewed 
admiration  ;  but  yet  I  am  oppressed  :  the  reader  is 
scarcely  ever  permitted  a  taste  of  unalloyed  pleasure ; 
every  beam  of  sunshine  is  poured  down  through  black 
bars  of  threatening  cloud  ;  every  page  is  surcharged 
with  a  sort  of  moral  electricity  ;  and  the  writer  was 
unconscious  of  all  this,  —  nothing  could  make  her 

conscious  of  it 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"C.  BRONTE." 

William  Blake's  Illustrated  Volumes  occupy 
honored  places  in  my  friend's  library,  for  she  has 
a  genuine  regard  for  the  man,  and  a  warm  feeling 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  47 

for  his  poems.  His  weird  pictures  attract  and 
hold  the  attention,  just  as  his  poetical  pieces 
grapple  to  the  memory.  In  the  copy  of  "  Songs 
of  Innocence  and  Experience  "  are  many  charming 
notes  pencilled  on  the  margins  or  on  the  fly-leaves, 
and  this  one  I  transcribe  for  its  intrinsic  beauty : 

"  When  Blake,  whose  life  had  been  one  of  poverty 
and  privation,  was  in  his  old  age  and  about  to  die, 
he  one  day  put  his  hands  on  the  head  of  a  little 
girl,  and  said,  *  May  God  make  this  world  to  you,  my 
child,  as  beautiful  as  it  has  been  to  me ! ' " 

My  friend  being  an  ardent  admirer  of  Coleridge, 
has  added  to  her  beautiful  copy  of  his  works  several 
autograph  letters  that  have  come  into  her  hands 
from  various  sources.  Everything  "  rich  and 
strange  "  in  that  way  seems  always  gravitating  to 
her  library.  Here  is  a  letter  which  I  copy  from 
the  neat,  small  page,  penned  by  Coleridge  on  a 
"Tuesday  afternoon,  on  the  13th  of  February, 
1827."  It  is  addressed  to 

"  J.  B.  WILLIAMS,  ESQRB. 
"  Surgeon,  &c.  &c., 

"  Aldersgate  Street." 
and  runs  thus  :  — 


48  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

"  MY  DEAR  WILLIAMS,  —  I  shall,  God  permitting, 
be  in  town  and  in  your  neighbourhood  to-morrow, 
and  shall  at  least  make  the  attempt  of  doing,  what  I 
have  some  half  score  of  times  proposed  to  Mr.  G.  that 
we  should  do  conjointly  —  that  is,  shake  hands  with 
you  in  your  own  A2KAHIIEION,  Latinic  Esculapium. 
Your  home,  I  am  well  aware,  is  not  at  your  own  com- 
mand :  and  unluckily  I  am  not  acquainted  with  the 
Horology  of  your  daily  Routine,  or  the  relations  of  the 
WTiens  to  the  Wheres  in  your  scheme  of  successive 
self-distribution.  But  I  will  call  between  One  and  Two  ; 
and  if  I  find  that  you  will  be  in,  at  any  mentionable 
time  between  that  and  half  past  two,  I  will  return  at 
the  same  time,  and  billet  (I  should  have  said  label)  my- 
self on  you  for  a  mutton  chop  and  a  potatoe  —  or  what 
I  should  like  better,  a  few  sausages  and  a  potatoe.  — 
Were  my  duodenal  digestion  brisk  enough  for  me  to 
work  after  dinner,  I  should  always  dine  from  £  past 
1  to  £  past  2,  for  that  is  the  only  time  of  the  24 
hours,  in  which  I  have  any  appetite  for  animal 
food. 

"  Gillman  has  been  very  poorly,  and  complains  much 
of  his  head  :  but  he  is  now  much  better,  Mrs.  Gill- 
man is  at  par  —  something  between  so  so,  and  pretty 
tolerable  I  thank  you. 


MY  FRIEXD'S  LIBRARY.  49 

"  With  my  kind  respects  to  M™.  W.  and  Love  to  the 
young  Galenicals, 

"  believe  me,  my  dear  Williams, 

"  With  affectionate  esteem  and  regard 
"  Your  Sincere  friend, 

"  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 
"  GROVE  :  HIGHGATE." 

From  one  Opium-Eater  to  another  —  to  the 
greatest  in  the  annals  of  Laudanum  —  is  an  easy 
transition.  Everything  relating  to  Thomas  Papa- 
verius,  as  the  "Book-Hunter"  calls  him,  my  friend 
has  collected,  and  hoarded  in  a  niche  by  itself. 
Fragile,  unsubstantial,  potent,  and  original,  — 
apply  these  epithets  to  the  only  man  of  this  cen- 
tury who  includes  them  all,  and  you  get  De 
Quincey,  one  of  the  great  masters  of  English,  one 
of  the  most  fascinating  of  all  modern  writers. 
Every  scrap  which  my  friend  has  collected  relat- 
ing to  the  personnel  of  this  interesting  individual 
is  of  value.  Observe  the  quaint  unlikeness  in 
this  communication  to  the  missive  of  any  one  else. 
The  note,  which  is  in  the  fairest  hand,  was  ad- 
dressed from  Lasswade  in  Scotland  to  the  Amer- 


50  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

lean  Editor  of  De  Quincey's  Writings,  who  hap- 
pened at  that  time  to  be  in  England.  I  find  it 
carefully  pasted  into  the  "  Confessions "  :  it  ex- 
plains itself. 

"  Thursday  Evening,  August  26. 

"MY  DEAR  SIR, —  The  accompanying  hillet  from 
my  daughter,  short  at  any  rate  under  the  pressure  of 
instant  engagements,  has  been  cut  shorter  by  a  sud- 
den and  very  distressing  head-ache.  I  therefore  who 
(from  a  peculiar  nervousness  connected  with  the  act 
of  writing)  so  rarely  attempt  to  discharge  my  own 
debts  in  the  letter- writing  department  of  life,  find  my- 
self unaccountably,  I  might  say  mysteriously,  engaged 
in  the  knight-errantry  of  undertaking  for  other  peo- 
ple's  Wretched  bankrupt  that  I  am,  with  an  abso- 
lute refusal  on  the  part  of  the  Commissioner  to  grant 
me  a  certificate  of  the  lowest  class,  —  suddenly  and  by 
a  necessity  not  to  be  evaded  I  am  affecting  the  large 
bounties  of  supererogation.  I  appear  to  be  vaporing 
in  a  spirit  of  vain-glory  ;  and  yet  it  is  under  the  mere 
coercion  of  severe  necessities  that  I  am  surprised  into 
this  unparalleled  instance  of  activity. 

"  Do  you  walk  ?  That  is  do  you  like  walking  for 
4  hours  *  on  end '  —  (which  is  our  archaic  expres- 
sion for  continuously)  ?  If  I  knew  that,  I  would 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  51 

arrange  accordingly  for  meeting  you.  The  case  as  to 
distances  is  this  ;  —  The  Dalkeith  railway,  from  the 
.Waverley  station,  brings  you  to  Esk  Bank.  That 
is  its  nearest  approach,  its  perihelion,  in  relation 
to  ourselves  :  and  it  is  precisely  2|  miles  distant 
from  Mavis  Brush  —  the  name  of  our  cottage.  Close 
to  us,  and  the  most  noticeable  object  for  guiding  your 
inquiries,  is — Mr.  Annandale's  Paper  Mills.  Now 
then,  accordingly  as  you  direct  my  motions,  I  will  — 
rain  being  supposed  absent  — join  you  at  your  hotel  in 
Edinburgh  any  time  after  11  o'clock,  and  walk  out  the 
whole  distance  (7  miles  from  the  Scott  Monument)  ; 
or  else  I  will  meet  you  at  Esty  Bank  :  or,  if  you  prefer 
coming  out  in  a  carriage,  I  will  await  your  coming 
here  in  that  state  of  motionless  repose  which  best  befits 
a  philosopher.  —  Excuse  my  levity,  and  believe  that 
with  sincere  pleasure  we  shall  receive  your  obliging 
visit. 

"  Ever  your  faithful  servant, 

"  THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY." 

In  a  handsome  edition  of  Sir  James  Mackin- 
tosh's attractive  Memoirs,  standing  next  to  the 
Coleridge  and  De  Quincey  volumes,  I  find  this 
characteristic  autograph,  which  seems  to  be  a 


52  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

reply  to  a  dinner  invitation  from  a  lady  not  en- 
tirely known  to  the  Knight.  It  begins  abruptly, 
but  gracefully,  and  is  a  model  reply  under  the 
circumstances  of  the  case. 

"  Oh  Thou  !  whatever  Title  please  thine  ear  ! 

"  whether  I  am  to  address  you  as  Ursula  or  Iphigenia, 
I  will  dine  with  you  on  Friday  if  I  am  not  obliged  to 
leave  town. 

"  I  cannot  at  this  moment  lay  my  hand  upon  your 
note,  and  it  is  from  recollection  only  that  I  speak  of 
Friday  as  the  day  for  which  you  wrote  me. 

"  I  am, 

"  Whether  you  be  a  Papist  or  a  Pagan, 
"  Alike  yours, 

"  J.  MACKINTOSH." 

Voyages  and  Travels  abound  in  my  friend's  li- 
brary, and  among  them  Edward  Lear's  beautifully 
illustrated  works  are  conspicuously  represented. 
Everybody  knows  the  "Nonsense  Book"  of  this 
tricksy  spirit,  but  his  books  of  travel  have  been 
neglected  in  America.  Perhaps,  however,  his  fun 
has  produced  greater  effects  everywhere  than  his 
learning. 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  53 

When  a  prominent  English  statesman,  some 
years  ago,  completely  disabled  by  the  cares  and 
fatigues  of  his  great  office,  consulted  Sir  Henry 
Holland,  the  Court  Physician,  as  to  what  course 
he  should  adopt  to  regain  his  health  and  vigor, 
Sir  Henry,  with  profound  wisdom,  told  the  Chan- 
cellor to  go  down  to  Brighton  for  a  mouth,  and 
take  only  one  book  with  him.  "  Shall  it  be 
Homer  1 "  asked  the  scholar  and  statesman  of  the 
physician.  "  By  no  means,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  The  volume  I  recommend  is  Edward  Lear's 
'Book  of  Nonsense,'  one  offthe  healthiest  works 
ever  written  in  the  kingdom."  "  And  who  is 
Edward  Lear  1 "  inquired  the  man  of  state  affairs. 
"  Sir,"  said  the  physician,  "  I  am  amazed  at  your 
question  !  Edward  Lear,  sir,  is  the  biographer  of 
'that  globular  person  of  Hurst,'  of  'that  uneasy 
old  man  of  the  West,'  of  '  that  courageous  young 
lady  of  Norway,'  of  '  that  morbid  old  man  of  Ve- 
suvius,' and  others  of  like  distinction."  The 
statesman  retired  with  his  one  book  to  the  sea- 
coast,  and  came  back  to  Downing  Street  at  the 
end  of  his  vacation  a  wiser  and  a  healthier  man, 
it  is  said. 


54  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

I  happen  to  know  Edward  Lear  very  well,  and 
am  glad  to  have  the  opportunity  of  commend- 
ing this  gentleman's  comic  books  everywhere.  He 
is  a  great,  broad-shouldered,  healthy  Englishman, 
who  spends  a  large  portion  of  his  valuable  time  in 
making  children,  especially,  happy.  He  is  the 
classmate  and  much-loved  friend  of  Alfred  Tenny- 
son (whose  beautiful  poem  to  E.  L.  means  Edward 
Lear)  ;  and  if  you  chanced,  a  few  years  back,  to  go 
to  Farringford  about  Christmas-time,  you  would 
have  been  likely  to  find  a  tall,  elderly  man,  in 
enormous  goggles,  down  on  all-fours  on  the  carpet, 
and  reciting,  in  the  character  of  a  lively  and  classi- 
cal hippopotamus,  new  nonsense-verses  to  a  dozen 
children,  amid  roars  of  laughter,  —  a  very  undig- 
nified position,  certainly,  for  one  of  the  best  Greek 
scholars  in  Europe,  for  a  landscape-painter  unri- 
valled anywhere,  and  the  author  of  half  a  dozen 
learned  quartos  of  travels  in  Albania,  Illyria,  Ca- 
labria, and  other  interesting  countries  !  But  what 
a  delight  he  is  personally  to  the  juniority  of  Eng- 
land wherever  he  is  known  !  A  few  years  ago  he 
was  obliged  to  build  a  cottage  in  Ravenna,  ill 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  55 

Italy,  and  live  there  a  portion  of  the  year,  in 
order  to  get  time  for  painting  and  study ;  for  when 
he  is  in  London  the  little  people,  whom  he  passion- 
ately loves  and  cannot  live  without,  run  after  him, 
as  they  did  after  the  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin,  to  that 
extent  he  has  no  leisure  for  his  profession.  When 
it  is  known  that  the  delightful  old  fellow  is  on  his 
way  back  to  England  for  the  holidays,  many  of  the 
castles  and  other  great  residences  are  on  the  alert 
with  invitations  to  secure  him  for  as  much  time  as 
he  can  give  them.  Generations  of  children  have 
clustered  about  him  in  different  Christmas  sea- 
sons. He  dedicates  his  first  "  Book  of  Nonsense  " 
"To  the  great-grandchildren,  grand-nephews,  and 
grand-nieces  of  the  thirteenth  Earl  of  Derby,  the 
greater  part  of  the  book  having  been  originally 
composed  for  their  parents."  Prime  favorite  as  he 
is  among  the  Argyles  and  the  Devonshires,  he  has 
an  immense  clientele  among  the  poor  and  over- 
worked peasantry  of  various  countries.  Having 
been  a  traveller  so  many  years,  and  so  conversant 
with  the  languages  of  the  Continent,  he  is  just  as 
much  at  home  with  his  fun  and  his  wide  goggles 


56  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

in  the  mountain-passes  of  Switzerland  and  Spain 
as  he  is  in  the  great  houses  of  England.  Long 
life  to  Edward  Lear,  and  continued  success  to  his 
ministry  of  good-nature  about  the  world  !  He 
promised,  not  long  ago,  he  would  come  to  America 
before  he  got  too  old  to  see  our  country ;  and  I 
hope,  some  day  not  far  distant,  to  see  him,  so  full 
of  genial  wit  and  drollery,  cutting  up  his  harmless 
and  healthful  antics  for  the  amusement  of  the 
boys  and  girls  of  America.  One  of  his  sayings, 
at  least,  deserves  immortality  :  "  The  world  will 
never  grow  old,"  he  said,  "so  long  as  it  has 
little  children  and  flowers  in  it." 

My  friend's  library  is  rich  in  old-time  school- 
books, —  "The  American  Preceptor,"  "The  Co- 
lumbian Orator,"  and  other  now  obsolete  "guides  " 
to  youth.  Here  is  a  "  dog's-eared  "  Walker's  Dic- 
tionary that  belonged,  in  1797,  to  Daniel  Webster, 
with  his  name  carefully  printed  with  a  pen  on  the 
fly-leaf,  in  a  school-boy's  hand.  That  was  the  year 
the  father  resolved,  poor  as  he  was,  to  send  his 
boy  to  college,  and  announced  his  intention  to  the 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  57 

astonished  lad.  I  know  of  no  paragraph  more 
pathetic  in  any  great  man's  early  life  than  this 
one  from  a  letter  written  by  Webster  himself,  de- 
scribing the  manner  his  father's  resolve  was  first 
made  known  to  him.  "  I  remember,"  he  writes  to 
a  friend,  "  the  very  hill  we  were  ascending,  through 
deep  snows  (in  February,  1797),  in  a  New-England 
sleigh,  when  my  father  made  his  purpose  known  to 
me.  I  could  not  speak.  How  could  he,  I  thought, 
with  so  large  a  family,  and  in  sych  narrow  circum- 
stances, think  of  incurring  so  great  an  expense  for 
me  1  A  warm  glow  ran  all  over  me,  and  I  laid 
my  head  on  my  father's  shoulder  and  wept." 

I  am  pained  to  observe  in  my  friend's  library 
several  broken  sets  of  valuable  books.  One  of  her 
copies  of  Milton,  of  which  author  she  has  some 
ten  different  editions,  has  a  gap  in  it,  which  prob- 
ably will  never  be  filled  again.  Gone,  I  fear,  for- 
ever, is  that  fourth  volume,  so  rich  in  notes  all 
radiant  in  the  handwriting  of  him  who  sang  of 
"Rimini"  and  "Abou  Ben  Adhem."  Some  eye, 
perchance,  falling  upon  this  page,  may  yet  throw 


58  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

the  needed  light  upon  the  whereabouts  of  this 
missing  treasure,  lost  or  stolen,  and  thus  indicate 
a  clew  to  its  recovery.  But  who  could  have  the 
heart  to  steal  a  book  like  that  1  What  shall  we 
think  of  that  insidious,  unsuspected  marauder 
who  came  and  saw  and  purloined]  What  fate 
should  compass  such  a  knave,  so  foul  a  book- 
aneer  ?  I  will  not  say  hanging,  for  that  is  a  harsh 
and  inelegant  word,  but  I  will  rather  employ  Sir 
Thomas  Browne's  more  pungent,  high-toned  phrase, 
and  call  it  "pendulous  suffocation"  ! 

Apropos  of  unrestoring  borrowers,  I  have  al- 
ways delighted  in  the  hint  conveyed  by  the  book- 
plate of  Garrick,  the  great  English  actor.  Little 
David  had  a  keen  sense  of  all  his  rights  of  owner- 
ship, and  he  adopted  for  his  book-motto  this  pas- 
sage from  a  French  author :  "  La  premiere  chose 
qu'on  doit  faire  quand  on  a  emprunte  un  livre, 
c'est  de  la  lire,  afin  de  pouvoir  le  rendre  plutot " 
(Menagiana,  Vol.  IV.),  — "  The  first  thing  one 
ought  to  do  when  one  has  borrowed  a  book  is  to 
read  it,  in  order  to  be  able  to  return  it  the  sooner." 

For  what  is  called  Shakespearean  literature  my 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  59 

friend  does  not  care  much,  preferring  the  light  of 
the  luminary  himself  to  the  nebulous  unsatisfac- 
tory guesses  of  his  commentators.  She  inclines 
rather  to  the  maximum  of  thought  in  Hamlet 
than  to  the  minimum  of  thought  about  Hamlet. 
Believing,  with  the  Chorus  in  Henry  the  Fifth, 
that  a  drama  is 

"Turning  the  accomplishment  of  many  years 
Into  an  hour-glass,1' 

and  that  W.  S.  had  the  power  to  do  it,  she  sticks 
to  the  "hour-glass."  She  says  that  reading 
"  Cymbeline  "  through  a  margin  of  notes  is  like 
playing  the  pianoforte  with  mittens  on ;  and  she  is 
fond  of  quoting  this  remark  once  dropped  in  her 
hearing  by  a  famous  actress :  "  Shakespeare  sets 
his  readers'  souls  on  fire  with  flashes  of  genius  ; 
his  commentators  follow  close  behind,  with  buck- 
ets of  water  putting  out  the  flames ! "  And  so 
she  is  content  to  read  the  "  Plays  and  Poems " 
themselves,  "  without  note  or  comment."  She 
considers  herself  a  personal  and  loving  debtor  to 
Charles  and  Mary  Cowden  Clarke,  to  Horace  and 
Mrs.  Furness,  and  some  other  kindred  helps;  but 


60  MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 

the  majority  of  "  Shakespeare-scholars,"  so  de- 
nominated, she  thanks  and  passes  by.  Over  her 
library  door  she  has  hung  up  an  "  effigy  "  of  the 
"  Prince  of  Poets,"  sent  from  Stratford  by  E.  F. 
the  Munificent,  and  under  it  she  has  placed  a  fac- 
simile copy  of  that  warning  verse  from  his  tomb 
to  the  "  Good  Friend  "  who  might  be  tempted  to 
"  digg  the  dust "  and  move  his  bones. 

We  were  speaking  one  day,  in  my  friend's  li- 
brary, of  the  "  awful  necromancer,"  the  "  protago- 
nist on  the  great  arena  of  poetry,"  the  "  glory  of 
the  human  intellect,"  as  he  has  been  called  by 
judges  of  genius ;  and  our  hostess  related  this 
anecdote  of  an  English  visitor  to  whom  she  was 
lately  showing  the  beautiful  mask  that  conspicu- 
ously graces  her  library.  She  said  the  man  (him- 
self a  writer  of  books)  gazed  at  it  carelessly  for  a 
moment,  and,  walking  away,  feebly  ejaculated, 
"  Yes,  yes,  poor  Shakespeare !  he,  too,  filled  a 
drunkard's  grave /"  "An  admirable  conceited  fel- 
low ttiat"  if  we  may  waste  those  words  from  the 
"Winter's  Tale"  on  such  a  muff!  Some  one 
present  then  told  us  of  a  pretentious  woman  who 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  61 

was  once  heard  to  say,  at 's  dinner-table,  that 

she  had  "  never  read  Shakespeare's  Works  herself, 
but  had  always  entertained  the  highest  opinion  of 
him  as  a  man."  This  last  recital  called  out 
M.  W.,  who  convulsed  our  little  group  by  relating 
this  comical  story  of  venerable  Mr.  ,  who  be- 
lieves unqualifiedly  in  Boston  as  not  the  hub  only, 
but  the  forward  wheels  also,  of  the  universe.  The 
excellent  old  gentleman,  having  confessed  to  L.  G. 
that  he  had  never  found  time,  during  his  busy  life, 
to  read  the  "  immortal  plays,"  was  advised  to  do 
so  during  the  winter  then  approaching.  In  the 
spring  G.  called  on  the  estimable  citizen,  and  casu- 
ally asked  if  he  had  read  any  of  the  plays  during 
the  season  just  passed.  Yes,  he  replied,  he  had 
read  them  all.  "Do  you  like  them1?"  ventured 
G.,  feeling  his  way  anxiously  to  an  opinion.  "Like 
them  !  "  replied  the  old  man,  with  effusive  ardor ; 
"  that  is  not  the  word,  sir  !  They  are  gloriousj 
sir ;  far  beyond  my  expectation,  sir  !  There  are 
not  twenty  men  in  Boston,  sir,  who  could  have  writ- 
ten those  plays  !  " 

But  I  am  rambling  on  too  far  and  too  fast  for 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY. 


to-day.  Here  is  one  more  book,  however,  that  I 
must  say  a  word  about,  as  it  lies  open  on  my 
knee,  the  gift  of  Robbie  Burns  to  a  female  friend, 

his  own  poems, — the  edition  which  gave  him 

"  so  much  real  happiness  to  see  in  print."  Laid 
in  this  copy  of  his  works  is  a  sad  letter,  in  the 
poet's  handwriting,  which  perhaps  has  never  been 
printed.  Addressed  to  Captain  Hamilton,  Dum- 
fries, it  is  in  itself  a  touching  record  of  dear 
Robin's  poverty,  and  a?  that. 

"  SIR,  —  It  is  needless  to  attempt  an  apology  for  my 
remissness  to  you  in  money  matters  ;  my  conduct  is 
beyond  all  excuse.  —  Literally,  Sir,  I  had  it  not.  The 
Distressful  state  of  commerce  at  this  town  has  this 
year  taken  from  my  otherwise  scanty  income  no  less 
than  £  20.  —  That  part  of  my  salary  depends  upon  the 
Imposts,  and  they  are  no  more  for  one  year.  I  inclose 
you  three  guineas  ;  and  shall  soon  settle  all  with  you. 
I  shall  not  mention  your  goodness  to  me  ;  it  is  beyond 
my  power  to  describe  either  the  feelings  of  my  wounded 
soul  at  not  being  able  to  pay  you  as  I  ought ;  or  the 
grateful  respect  with  which  I  have  the  honor  to  be 
"  Sir,  Your  deeply  obliged  humble  servant, 

"RoBT.  BURNS. 
"DUMFRIES,  Jany.  29,  1795." 


MY  FRIEND'S  LIBRARY.  63 

And  so  I  walk  out  of  my  friend's  leaf-y  para- 
dise this  July  afternoon,  thinking  of  the  bard  who 
in  all  his  songs  and  sorrows  made 

"rustic  life  and  poverty 
Grow  beautiful  beneath  his  touch," 

and  whose  mission  it  was 

"  To  weigh  the  inborn  worth  of  man." 
1 


A  PEOULIAB  CASE. 


A  PECULIAR  CASE. 


YRUS  came  well  recommended  to  us  (by 
his  own  family),  and,  as  the  name  he  bore 
has  still  an  interesting  sound  in  Oriental 
history,  we  decided  to  employ  him  in  our  cool  cot- 
tage "  Down  East."  Our  summer  hut  in  those  days 
overlooked  the  sea,  and  was  one  of  the  simplest 
resting-places  outside  that  quiet  haven  which,  for 
mortal  reasons,  we  are  all  destined,  sooner  or 
later,  to  occupy.  The  grounds  belonging  to  our 
rudimentary  domicile  required  only  the  smallest 
amount  of  work  to  keep  them  in  order,  so  we 
cast  about  for  a  young  and  inexpensive  lad  in 
the  neighborhood  who  would  come  every  morning 
early  and  attend  to  whatever  was  necessary  for 


68  A   PECULIAR    CASE. 

our  comfort  and  convenience  on  the  premises. 
There  was  water  to  be  pumped  ;  there  were  shoes 
to  be  cleaned ;  the  horse  was  to  be  brought  up 
from  the  village  stable  when  wanted  for  a  drive ; 
a  few  flowers  were  to  be  weeded  and  sprinkled  ; 
and  various  other  small  offices  of  a  kindred  na- 
ture required  the  daily  ministration  of  some  com- 
petent person  who  understood  matters  appertain- 
ing to  a  household  epitome  like  ours.  And  so  it 
came  to  pass  that  Cyrus,  accompanied  by  a  weak- 
minded  little  dog,  presented  himself  the  next 
morning  after  our  arrival,  and,  standing  in  the 
breezy  entry,  with  a  nondescript  fur  cap  on,  pulled 
tightly  down  over  his  eyes,  demanded  information 
as  to  what  he  should  "  ketch  holt  on  fust."  Had 
he  ever  brushed 'a  pair  of  shoes?  Xo  ;  but  if  I 
would  bring  him  a  pair,  he  would  try  his  hand 
at  it.  In  about  an  hour  he  brought  in  the  shoes, 
and  dryly  observed  he  had  "  spread  the  whole  box 
over  'em."  He  had  put  the  contents,  not  only 
on  the  outside  of  the  shoes,  but  had  pasted  them 
thoroughly  on  the  inside  as  well !  This  was  the 
first  exhibition  of  his  skill,  and  amply  illustrated 


A  PECULIAR   CASE.  69 

the  fact  that  he  was  110  respecter  of  places,  what- 
ever he  might  be  of  persons.  When  I  told  him  in 
future  I  would  put  my  shoes  outside  my  sleeping- 
room  door,  he  drawled  out,  "  They  '11  be  per- 
fectly safe  :  nobody  '11  tetch  'em  !  " 

0,  but  he  was  a  conspicuous  trial  in  our  lot,  — 
a  source  of  manifold  woe  to  us  all !  'His  ability 
to  do  anything  was  an  esoteric  quality,  and  he 
held  his  few  faculties  in  a  kind  of  sacred  pri- 
vacy. 

"  Cyrus  is  a  peculiar  case"  said  his  father  (a 
squab  little  man,  devoid  of  hair)  ;  "but  don't  be 
hash  with  him,  and  he  '11  soon  learn  yer  ways," 
—  which  he  never  did. 

His  multifarious  manoeuvrings  to  avoid  learning 
our  ways  astounded  the  household.  He  was  for- 
ever "jest  a-goin'  "  to  do  everything,  but  he  accom- 
plished nothing.  Shirking  was  a  fine  art  with  the 
rogue ;  it  was  akin  to  meat  and  drink  with  him ; 
a  kind  of  constant  nutriment  conducive  to  special 
gratification.  And  so  he  always  postponed  em- 
ployment to  a  more  convenient  season,  which 
season  he  trusted  might  never  come. 


70  A   PECULIAR    CASE. 


Honest  W.  C.,  discoursing  of  the  Washington 
embezzlements,  let  fall  this  explanation  of  "irreg- 
ularities "  at  the  Capitol :  "  Work 's  an  old-fash- 
ioned way  of  gittiu'  a  liviu' ;  it  tires  folks,  and 
they  don't  like  it." 

Cyrus  exemplified  the  forceful  truth  of  a  state- 
ment like  this.  Punctuality  to  duty  in  any  form 
met  with  his  sternest  exprobation.  He  was  what 
is  called  in  the  country  "a  growin'  boy,"  and 
he  grew  to  be  a  thorn  in  our  side,  a  pest  in  our 
path,  a  cloud  in  our  landscape.  In  brief,  he 
proved  the  only  serious  trial  in  our  cottage  life 
by  the  sea,  our  only  real  skeleton,  indoors  or  out. 

Words  are  colorless  to  depict  the  inadequacy  of 
Cyrus  to  the  situation  we  had  called  him  to  fill. 
A  dark  lantern  without  a  candle  would  have  served 
us  quite  as  well,  for  the  boy  shed  no  light  any- 
where, and  handled  nothing  fitly.  He  was  a  crea- 
ture of  misinformation  on  every  topic  he  ought  to 
have  been  conversant  with.  He  was  constantly 
getting  himself  poisoned  with  ivy,  the  leaf  of 
which  he  mistook  for  something  else,  and  the 
consequent  obfuscation  of  his  countenance  added 


A  PECULIAR    CASK.  71 

nothing  to  his  personal  attractions.  He  had  a 
natural  aversion  to  self-agency,  so  far  as  he  was 
concerned.  He  did  not  know  things  by  halves, 
or  quarters  even.  He  had  languid  hands,  and 
languider  legs.  His  figure  was  long  and  fuzzy, 
and  when  he  walked,  swung  itself  to  and  fro  like 
a  broken  bulrush.  All  the  possibilities  of  sloth 
were  apparent  in  his  feet.  He  limped  and  crept 
rather  than  walked.  His  whole  being  seemed 
parboiled,  and  his  joints  unsettled.  He  was  an 
emblem  of  incompleteness,  a  memento  of  hopeless 
dearth,  both  moral  and  physical ;  celerity  was 
extinct  in  him.  He  had  a  gone-out  appearance, 
as  of  one  dug  up  from  the  ashes  of  some  Yankee 
Hercnlaneum  ;  and,  as  a  family,  we  felt  a  kind  of 
mortification  at  belonging  to  the  same  race  with 
such  a  remnant,  such  a  bundle  of  half  intuitions. 
Coleridge  describes  him  when  he  speaks  of  "a 
monument  of  imbecility  and  blank  endeavor,"  for 
the  boy  heard  nothing,  and  saw  nothing,  from 
sheer  and  stubborn  uimse  of  his  faculties.  He 
was  unobservant  as  a  "  blind  alley,"  whatever  that 
ophthalmic  curiosity  may  be ;  and  he  never  picked 


72  A  PECULIAR    CASE. 

up  anything,  for  he  was  not  cognizant  of  matter 
like  the  majority  of  the  human  race. 

Of  positive  truth,  he  was  born  insolvent.  He 
was  strong  in  partial  falsehoods,  and  preferred  the 
serpentine  to  a  direct  course  on  every  occasion  ; 
but  he  had  no  falterings  in  deception.  He  pre- 
ferred to  sidle  up  to  a  lie  rather  than  present  it 
squarely;  but  there  was  no  imperfection  in  the 
article  itself  when  he  had  reached  it.  Sometimes, 
but  not  often,  his  fabrications  \vere  too  crude  to 
escape  detection.  Of  this  nature  was  his  frequent 
apology  for  absences  on  account  of  the  necessity 
of  "  attending  his  grandmother's  funeral."  At  frhe 
end  of  the  season,  I  made  out  from  my  records 
that  Cyrus  had  been  called  upon  to  mourn  the 
loss  of  nine  extinct  grandmothers  in  three  months  ; 
but  as  his  moral  tegument  was  impervious  to  pro- 
testation, I  never  charged  upon  him,  face  to  face, 
his  pretended  unnatural  supply  of  female  relations. 
(Ovid  alludes  to  Bacchus  as  "twice  born,"  —  bis 
geniti,  —  but  all  such  natal  exaggerations  are 
abhorrent  to  credulity.) 

There    are   thosa    whose  minds  are  always  on 


A   PECULIAR    CASE.  73 

the  wrong  side  of  any  subject  presented  to  them. 
Of  such  was  the  boy  Cyras  in  an  eminent  de- 
gree, for  his  mind  was  ever  in  that  wandering 
state  which  precludes  the  possibility  of  lodging 
an  idea  within  an  acre  or  two  of  its  blundering 
precincts.  He  dwelt  in  an  atmosphere  beclouded 
with  carelessness,  and  so  he  comprehended  every- 
thing in  an  opposite  light  from  the  true  one. 
He  paused  when  he  should  have  gone  on,  and 
moved  rapidly  (for  him)  when  he  should  have 
ceased  motion. 

His  manners  were  preposterous  in  their  illimit- 
able absurdity.  When  I  begged  him  one  day 
to  step  forward  quickly  and  hold  a  friend's  horse 
that  was  restive  at  the  door,  he  leisurely  ob- 
served "he  was  not  a-goin'  to  spring  for  any- 
body ! "  (Cyrus  on  a  spring  would  have  been  a 
sight  worth  seeing.) 

Being  in  the  habit  of  bursting  into  my  private 
room  to  ask  irrelevant  questions,  at  all  hours, 
without  the  formality  of  knocking,  I  hinted 
mildly  to  him  that  it  was  the  custom  to  knock 
before  entering  another's  apartment.  He  stared 


A  PECULIAR   CASE. 


at  my  suggested  act  of  propriety  for  a  moment, 
and  then  blurted  out  the  remark  that  for  his 
part  he  did  not  "see  wot  good  that  would  do, 
but  he  would  give  a  thump  next  time."  Accord- 
ingly when  he  had  occasion  to  come  again  to  my 
door,  he  pounded  vigorously  on  it  with  the  heel 
of  his  heavy  boot. 

"  Who  's  there  ? "    I  inquired. 

"Cyrus  J.  Mu  eh  more !"  he  shouted  in  a  voice 
that  set  all  the  crockery  dancing  on  the  adja- 
cent shelves,  and  "  woke  the  neighboring  cliffs 
around." 

Laziness  was  his  foible.  He  had  that  unpleas- 
ant quality  in  its  supreme  condition.  The  throne 
of  indolence  was  vacant  on  our  coast  until  Cyrus 
lolled  forward  and  fell  into  it. 

He  was  own  brother  to  the  snail,  and  no  rela- 
tion whatever  to  the  ant.  Even  his  cautious 
father,  discoursing  of  him  one  day,  acknowledged 
that  "  the  boy  was  rather  chicken-hearted  about 
work."  Unaided  locomotion  was  distasteful  to 
him.  If  sent  on  an  errand  to  the  next  cottage, 
he  waited  patiently  for  an  opportunity  to  trans- 


A  PECULIAR   CASE.  75 

fer  himself  bodily  into  the  tail-end  of  somebody's 
passing  wagon,  considering  it  better  to  be  thus 
assisted  along  than  to  assume  the  responsibility 
of  moving  forward  on  his  own  legs.  He  spared 
himself  all  the  fatigue  possible  to  mortality,  and 
overcame  labor  by  constantly  lying  in  w^it  for  "  a 
lift,"  as  he  called  it.  He  was  the.  only  seaside 
stripling  I  ever  met  who  eschewed  fishing.  Most 
boys  are  devotees  of  the  rod  and  line,  but  Cyrus 
was  an  exception.  The  necessary  anterior  search 
for  bait  was  too  much  for  his  inertia.  Clam  and 
worm  might  lie  forever  undisturbed,  so  far  as  he 
was  concerned.  He  must  have  slowly  descended 
from  that  notorious  son  of  laziness  celebrated  by 
old  Barton,  who  said  he  enjoyed  fishing  until  the 
fish  began  to  bite ;  then  he  gave  it  up,  as  he 
could  not  endure  the  fatigue  of  drawing  up  the 
line  and  rebaiting  the  hook. 

His  dilatory  habit  rose  sometimes  to  the  au- 
dacity of  genius.  He  could  consume  more  hours  in 
going  a  mile  to  the  village  post  office  and  return- 
ing with  the  mail  than  one  would  credit,  unless 
his  gait  came  under  personal  observation.  We 


7G  A    PECULIAR    CASE. 

took  a  kind  of  exasperated  delight  as  we  used  to 
watch  him  trailing  along  the  ground,  and  we  felt 
a  fresh  wonder  every  day  at  his  power  of  slow  pro- 
cedure. It  seemed  a  gift,  an  endowment,  now  for 
the  first  time  vouchsafed  to  mortal  inertness.  The 
caterpillar  would  have  been  too  rapid  for  him ;  he 
would  lose  in  a  race  with  that  dull  groundling.  He 
saemed  to  be  counting  myriads  of  something  in 
the  road.  When  he  cautiously  and  laboriously 
lifted  up  one  foot,  it  seemed  an  eternity  before  the 
other  followed  it.  He  would  frequently  drop 
asleep  in  getting  over  a  stone-wall,  and  his  recum- 
bent figure  was  imprinted  under  all  the  trees  by 
the  roadside.  He  hated  action,  except  at  meals. 
There  he  astonished  the  cook,  who  complained 
after  his  advent  into  our  kitchen  that  "  one  pair 
of  hands  could  n't  provide  enough  for  such  a  com- 
morunk,"  and  advised  us  to  have  him  "exam- 
ined !  "  She  accused  him  of  "  always  a-georging 
of  hisself."  She  averred  that  when  he  was  help- 
ing her  shell  peas  he  ate  up  all  but  the  pods  dur- 
ing the  operation  ;  and  she  declared  that  if  she 
took  her  eyes  off  him  as  he  moved  through  the 


A   PECULIAR    CASfc.  77 

pantry,  he   devoured   as  he  went,  to  use  her  own 
words,  "  like  an  araiy  of  locusses." 

He  never  knew  what  o'clock  it  was,  but  con- 
stantly asked  everybody  he  met  for  "  the  time 
o'  day."  When  informed,  and  the  hour  announced 
did  not  approximate  dinner-time,  he  became  dis- 
couraged and  low-spirited,  but  revived  at  the  sight 
of  a  chance  apple  or  cucumber  lying  on  the  ground 
near  by.  I  have  seen  him  blossom  into  slow 
activity  when  unexpected  food  has  been  offered  to 
him  "  between  meals."  His  stomach  rose  to  any 
occasion,  and  coped  with  all  emergencies.  We 
used  to  try  him  with  a  heavy  slice  of  beef  and  mus- 
tard at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  he  settled 
upon  it  at  once  with  stolid  avidity,  cobra-fashion. 
He  yearned  for  family  picnics  where  there  was  no 
walking  to  be  done,  where  the  viands  were  ample, 
and  nobody  had  occasion  to  bear  along  the  bas- 
kets. He  was  constitutionally  susceptible  of  double 
meals.  His  favorite  localities  could  always  be 
recognized  by  the  debris  of  comestibles  strewn 
around.  Rinds  of  water-melon,  egg-shells,  and 
apple-cores  betrayed  his  whereabouts.  When  off 


78  A  PECULIAR   CASE. 

duty  at  the  kitchen-table  he  was  ever  devouring 
something  from  out  a  huge  pocket  which  adorned 
his  trousers  on  the  right  side,  bulging  it  out  like 
a  wen.  The  protuberance  became  so  enormous 
that  one  day  I  felt  constrained  to  ask  him  if  he 
had  a  cannon-ball  in  his  thigh.  No,  it  was  only 
a  couple  of  turnips  he  was  "  a-goin'  to  eat  bum- 
by."  Everv  edible  thing  that  grew  was  tributary 
to  him.  His  taste  was  catholic.  He  fed  largely 
and  promiscuously.  He  was  matchless  in  his  dep- 
redations on  cooked  or  uncooked.  He  was,  in 
short,  the  lineal  descendant  of  Pliny's  "Annihila- 
tor,"  the  great  food  destroyer  of  antiquity  ! 

Born  in  the  country,  he  was  ignorant  as  a  sign- 
post of  what  came  out  of  the  soil.  When  set  to 
work  in  the  garden  he  pulled  np  everything  but  the 
weeds.  He  would  mistake  wormwood  for  parsley, 
and  mustard  for  mint.  Interrogatories  disquieted 
him.  When  asked  a  question  about  what  should 
have  concerned  him  most,  his  unblushing  reply 
was,  "  Don't  know  !  " 

He  had  adroitness  in  delegating  jobs  about  the 
place  to  unsuspecting  lads  of  his  acquaintance  that 


A  PECULIAR   CASE.  79 

was  both  amusing  and  exasperating.  He  would 
saunter  along  to  the  cottage  in  the  morning,  bring- 
ing with  him  two  or  three  shabby-looking  varlets 
of  his  own  age,  or  a  little  younger,  perhaps,  and 
hide  them  away  behind  the  rocks  until  their  ser- 
vices might  be  required.  At  the  proper^ime  he 
would  carry  out  the  new  hoe,  or  the  new-fangled 
rake,  to  show  them.  Then  he  would  gradually 
toll  the  boys  up  to  some  gap  in  the  avenue  that 
needed  filling,  or  allure  them  to  a  lot  of  hay  that 
must  be  gathered  for  the  barn.  He,  meanwhile, 
would  lie  on  the  ground  in  a  state  of  flat  con- 
tentment, making  the  most  of  himself,  and  regard- 
ing the  boys  with  supine  satisfaction  as  they 
accomplished  the  task  he  ought  himself  to  be 
engaged  in.  Coming  upon  him  unexpectedly  once 
while  thus  disporting  his  lazy  length,  I  asked  for 
an  explanation  of  his  conduct.  He  replied  that 
he  "was  obleeged  to  lay  daown  on  accaount  of  a 
jumpin'  tewth-ache  'that  hed  jess  sot  in."  His 
subterfuges  were  endless  and  invincible.  They 
revolved  about  him  in  a  perpetual  cycle,  ready  for 
use  at  any  moment,  and  so  he  was  never  caught 


80  A  PECULIAR   CASE. 

disfurnished  with  an  excuse.  Evasion  was  his 
armature,  quiddity  his  defence.  To  upbraid  him 
was  a  loss  of  time  and  patience.  It  would  be  a 
shrewd  master  indeed  who  could  circumvent  him  ! 
Choate  was  not  more  wary,  or  Webster  more  pro- 
found, than  Cyrus  when  he  was  brought  to  bay. 

He  was  full  of  illogical  intrepidities.  He 
eluded  reproof  with  a  conversational  dexterity 
beyond  the  ordinary  bent  and  level  of  his  brain. 
He  changed  the  current  of  discourse  at  will. 
"When  remonstrating  with  him  one  day  on  his 
short-comings  and  long-goings,  he  .  interrupted 
the  strain  of  remark  by  inquiring  if  I  had 
"  heered  that  'Siah  Jones's  boss  got  cast  t'  other 
night,  and  took  four  men  to  drag  him  aout  by 
the  tail."  On  another  occasion  he  cut  short  my 
admonition,  just  as  the  homily  was  culminating, 
by  asking  me  if  I  "  knowed  that  Abel  Baker 
wore  false  teeth  in  his  maouth,  and  sometimes 
put  'em  in  upside-daown,  cos  he  did  n't  under- 
stand 'em."  In  the  middle  of  a  colloquy  with 
him  one  morning  on  his  unpunctual  appeai-anee 
at  the  cottage,  he  threw  me  completely  off  the 


A  PECULIAR   CASE.  81 

track  by  casually  "wondering"  if  1  had  "ever 
run  acrost  the  sea-sarpunt  in  my  travels ! "  Ha- 
ranguing him  at  the  close  of  a  day  when  he  had 
neglected  every  duty,  he  broke  the  force  of  my 
censure  by  demanding  if  I  was  "  for  or  agin 
capital  punishment."  He  habitually  glidlcl  away 
from  a  subject  that  happened  to  set  against 
him,  just  as  Tennyson's  snake  "slipped  under 
a  spray !  " 

Poor  Cyrus  !  I  have  not  even  veiled  his  in- 
significant and  unmusical  name,  for  he.  is  no 
longer  extant  in  a  world  he  did  nothing  to  ben- 
efit or  adorn.  Oblivion  called  for  him  years  ago. 
He  was  carried  off  in  the  season  of  green  apples, 
being  unable  to  restrain  his  reckless  passion  for 
unripe  fruit.  As  I  strew  this  handful  of  pop- 
pies over  his  unconscious  eyelids,  I  remember 
with  a  smile  of  gratitude  the  daily  fun  his 
drowsy  presence  afforded  to  at  least  one  mem- 
ber of  that  little  household  by  the  sea;  and 
pondering '  how  small  an  interest  he  ever  took 
in  the  industries  of  life,  I  confidently  apply  to 
his  "peculiar  case"  the  well-known  assertion  in 


82  A   PECULIAR   CASK. 

a  celebrated  monody,  — "  Little  he  '11  reck  if 
they  let  him  sleep  on ! "  Vex  not  his  ghost ! 
Light  lie  the  turf  on  his  inactive  elbows,  for 
they  would  be  troubled,  even  now,  if  under  press- 
ure of  any  kind.  It  cannot  be  seriously  said 
of  him  that  he  "rests  from  his  labors,"  poor 
lad,  for  his  frequent  slumber  was  always  more 
natural  than  his  infrequent  toil,  and  he  knew 
how  to  take  much  ease  during  his  brief  sojourn 
in  this  work-a-day  world.  No  "  hoary-headed 
swain"  Down  East  can  ever  make  this  passing 
observation  touching  the  habits  of  our  defunct 
acquaintance  :  — 

"Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep  of  dawn 
Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn." 

But  many  of  us  still  remember  how  often  — 

"There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech 

Tli at  wreathes  its  old,  fantastic  roots  so  high, 

His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch, 

And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by." 


FAMILIAR  LETTER  TO  HOUSE-BREAKERS, 


i 

FAMILIAR  LETTER  TO  HOUSE-BREAKERS. 


ENTLEMEN, — Your  daring  eccentrici- 
ties have  often  moved  me  to  address  you  ; 
but  your  recent  gambols  on  my  own 
premises  compel  immediate  attention  to  the  subject. 
The  last  time  some  of  your  fraternity  unexpectedly 
called  at  my  residence  several  incidents  occurred 
which  were  not  at  all  to  your  credit  as  honest  and 
true  men.  Some  of  them,  as  the  painters  say, 
•were  entirely  "out  of  drawing."  Pardon  me  if  I 
remind  ycru  in  this  public  manner  of  the  well-ven- 
tilated, proverbial  reference  to  that  fine  sense  of 
honor  which  is  said  to  exist  even  among  individ- 
uals of  your  exceptional  calling.  In  "  breaking 
and  entering,"  as  the  law  succinctly  denominates 


86     FAMILIAR  LETTER  TO  HOUSE-BREAKERS. 

one  of  the  customs  of  your  craft,  you  did  not,  on 
the  occasion  referred  to  (again  I  crave  forgiveness 
for  the  candid  strain  of  my  complaint),  so  care- 
fully abstain  from  injuring  my  unfortunate  posses- 
sions as  you  might  have  done.  It  has  never  been 
the  habit  of  the  confiding  household  to  which  I 
belong  to  lock  either  its  doors  or  its  drawers,  but 
to  save  all  unnecessary  trouble  by  leaving  every- 
thing we  own  most  easy  of  access  and  quite  free 
to  the  handling  of  your  brotherhood,  should  any 
members  of  it  chance  to  drop  in  upon  us ;  yet, 
notwithstanding  our  forethought  in  your  behalf, 
our  studied  solicitude  for  your  comfort  and  con- 
venience, you  abstracted  all  the  keys  thus  left  to 
your  mercy  and  utterly  disregarded  our  natural 
claims  in  the  matter.  Note  for  one  moment,  gen- 
tlemen, what  trouble  you  have  caused  us  by  this 
oversight  of  propriety.  Every  instrument  you 
have  thus  purloined  and  appropriated  to  other 
entrances  must  be  replaced  by  us;  and,  as  the 
locks  on  most  of  the  doors  thus  defrauded  are 
patent  ones  and  not  easily  fitted  by  an  ordinary 
locksmith,  experts  at  a  distance  must  be  sent  for 


FAMILIAR  LETTER  TO  HOUSE-BREAKERS.     87 

and  brought,  with  considerable  expense,  into  these 
gaping  and  unprotected  apartments.  Again,  it  is 
not  exactly  according  to  the  Commandments  for 
an  unknown  number  of  persons  to  come  by  night 
into  a  dwelling-house  of  which  they  do  not  "  hold 
the  title-deed,"  wearing  boots  that  leave  indelible 
nail-marks  on  the  tops  of  other  people's  pianos 
and  that  soil  unworn  carpets  and  stairs  with  a 
compound  of  tar  and  mud,  whose  consistence  it  is 
beyond  the  efforts  of  time  and  chemistry  to  re- 
move. Spilling  oil  or  other  disagreeable  fluid  by 
the  quart,  or  even  by  the  pint,  on  couches  and 
table-covers  and  leaving  it  supernatent  where  fine 
proof  engravings  have  been  laid  is  not  a  high-toned 
act,  gentlemen,  and  ought  not  to  be  sanctioned  by 
your  guild.  I  am  sorry  to  notice,  also,  a  morbid 
tendency  in  your  profession,  of  late,  to  mutilate 
paintings  hanging  on  the  inoffensive  walls ;  and 
the  inhuman  wish  will  not  be  kept  down  that 
some  of  you  could  be  compelled  to  change  places 
with  them,  —  for  a  few  hours,  at  least.  There 
seems,  too,  a  growing  desire  among  you  to  molest 
the  marble  adornments, 

"  Whose  white  investments  figure  innocence," 


88    FAMILIAR  LETTER  TO  HOUSE-BREAKERS. 

in  a  house.  Consider  for  a  moment,  gentlemen, 
what  it  must  be  for  a  proprietor  to  go  down  stairs 
in  the  morning  and  find  his  own  bust  transmuted 
from  a  "  speaking  likeness  "  into  an  object  fit  only 
for  the  ash-barrel !  Think  of  his  domestic  part- 
ner's feelings  when  she  descends  into  the  drawing- 
room,  after  your  midnight  visit,  and  beholds  the 
wreck  you  have  left  behind !  Gentlemen,  could 
you  have  been  present  on  a  certain  morning  of 
last  week,  you  would  have  witnessed  a  scene  of 
woe  to  flutter  in  unwonted  manner  the  most  dis- 
honest heart,  albeit,  you  are,  I  believe,  somewhat 
given  to  the  melting  mood.  (The  silver  tea-set 
you  conveyed  away  from  us  during  your  late  so- 
journ was  a  wedding-gift,  most  chastely  wrought. 
Where  is  it  now  and  what  rank  furnace  saw  its 
molten  pangs'?)  I  will  not  here  enumerate  all 

"  The  parcels  and  particulars  of  our  grief " ; 
but  what  an  incommunicative  heap  you  left  us 
of  what  was  once  the  semblance  of  a  living  and 
immortal  art !  There  lay  our  "  Young  Augustus," 
quite  chapfallen ;  our  "  Clytie,"  headless  in  the 
flower  of  youth;  our  "Dying  Gladiator,"  more 


FAMILIAR  LETTER  TO  HOUSE-BREAKERS.    89 

than  dead  and  turned  to  clay ;  our  skyey-pointing 
"  Mercury,"  overthrown  and  void.  Bending  over 
her  vanished  treasures  (spoils  of  many  and  many 
a  happy  year),  the  tearful  owner  stood,  a  monu- 
ment of  sorrow  paralyzed  by  grief,  among  her 
broken  idols.  Really,  gentlemen,  it  did  seem  a 
wholesale  and  superfluous  destruction  of  beautiful 
things  (could  not  one  suffice  1) ;  but  perhaps  you 
are  of  Captain  Swosser's  opinion,  that  "  if  you 
make  pitch  hot  you  cannot  make  it  too  hot." 
(Pardon  this  levity,  gentlemen,  on  a '  theme  so 
serious ;  but  pitch  is  always  suggestive.) 

I  did  not  hear  your  ingress  on  that  fatal  night 
which  brought  us  all  our  woe,  for  I  am  torpid  as 
a  watchman  after  twelve  o'clock ;  but  if  I  had 
encountered  you  on  my  premises  during  your  call 
I  should  have  made  a  special  revolving  plea  for 
the  safety  of  those  particular  household  gods. 
Excuse  my  bluntness,  gentlemen  ;  but  your  icono- 
clastic feats  are  unpraiseworthy  and  will  not  bear 
repetition.  Such  rites  are  unholy  in  the  extreme, 
and  are  only  practised  by  bunglers  in  your  voca- 
tion. Performances  like  those  are  crude  and  can- 


90     FAMILIAR  LETTER  TO  HOUSE-BREAKERS. 

not  come  to  good.  No  true  artist  will  ever  stoop 
so  low. 

I  linger  over  our  wrongs  because  they  are  so 
great.  You  have  inflicted  upon  this  family  a 
household  cruelty,  and,  to  employ  the  pomp  of 
Shakespearean  phrase,  have  made  us 

"  Feel  the  bruises  of  the  day  before, 
And  suffer  the  condition  of  the  times 
To  lay  a  heavy  and  unequal  hand 
Upon  our  honors." 

We  are,  indeed,  wounded  where  we  least  expected 
blows;  and  we  cannot,  therefore,  as  some  of  our 
modern  judges  and  juries  do,  regard  you  in  the 
light  of  honest  and  civil  citizens.  I  am  aware 
that  current  sympathy,  in  and  out  of  the  courts, 
now  runs  in  favor  of  protecting  the  criminal ;  but 
the  amusements  you  pursue,  though  possibly  lucra- 
tive, are  dangerous.  Your  pastime  is  open  to  sus- 
picion, at  least.  There  are  individuals  here  and 
there,  even  in  this  year  of  the  Republic,  who  doubt 
if  a  thief  ought  to  be  habitually  classed  with  hon- 
est men.  "  Flat  burglary  "  has  in  some  quarters 
become  prejudicial  to  reputations. 


FAMILIAR  LETTER  TO  HOUSE-BREAKERS.     91 

Not  many  years  ago,  in  England,  —  a  country, 
I  am  told,  from  which  many  of  your  stock  ha\7e 
emigrated  to  this  one,  —  they  instituted  a  kind  of 
gymnastic  exercise  specially  adapted  for  your  per- 
manent reform.  "Dancing  on  nothing"  I  think 
they  called  the  saltatory  position  where  sentence 
was  executed  in  those  days.  A  friend  of  mine 
attended  several  trials  at  the  Old  Bailey  in  1827, 
and  on  one  occasion  saw  three  able-bodied  and 
accomplished  gentlemen  of  your  persuasion  con- 
demned to  death  for  forgery  and  house-breaking; 
and  there  was  no  pardon  following  close  upon  the 
decision  of  that  court.  They  gave  no  quarter  then 
to  Worshipful  Knights  of  the  False  Keys.  There 
was  no  divergence  of  opinion  touching  the  char- 
acter of  your  Order  in  those  days,  gentlemen. 

Yours  is  not  a  liberal  profession ;  consequently, 
your  exceptional  career  is  limited.  A  great  artist 
in  your  line  is  now  passing  the  remainder  of  his 
life  (when  not  engaged  in  lapidarian  dissections) 
in  the  contemplation  of  a  very  small,  unfurnished 
apartment,  adorned  with  no  wood-work  and  much 
rectangular  iron.  He  possessed  rare  social  quali- 


92     FAMILIAR  LETTER  TO  HOUSE-BREAKERS. 

ties  and  was  friendly  to  the  worst  pursuits  of  man. 
Constabulary  restraint  grew  fluid  at  his  touch. 
From  his  youth  up  he  could  pick  a  lock  with  the 
best  of  his  tribe,  and  shop-lifting  was  his  favorite 
faith.  His  special  gift,  perhaps,  lay  in  crawling 
through  apertures  where  an  infant's  body  would 
have  been  tightly  wedged.  The  secret  skill  with 
which  he  transferred  the  well-guarded  property  of 
others  into  his  own  keeping  seemed  a  new-born 
power,  coming  into  the  world  only  at  his  particular 
advent.  He  was  the  wonder  of  his  time  and  the 
envy  of  his  clan.  But  pause  now  before  his  her- 
mit cell  and  gaze  upon  his  shaven  head.  Your 
own  fair  locks,  gentlemen,  may  one  day  come  to 
to  be  picked  like  his.  He  once  had  curls  abun- 
dant as  your  own.  Think  of  your  macassared 
crowns  diminished  to  that  ignoble  condition  !  Un- 
der the  circumstances,  gentlemen,  is  it  obtrusive 
in  me  to  warn  you  and  call  your  attention  loudly 
to  this  example  of  capillary  unattraction  before 
you  1  "You  have  had  among  you,  no  doubt,  many 
a  hair-breadth  escape ;  but  yonder  dismantled 
dome  of  thought,  once  thatched  with  comely  locks, 


FAMILIAR  LETTER  TO  HOUSE-BREAKERS.     93 

preaches  a  lesson  to  you  not  to  be  lightly  set  aside. 
Your  turn  in  the  barber-shop  of  fate,  when  you, 
too,  will  be  invited  to  take  the  inexorable  chair,  is 
sure  to  come.  The  avenging  shears  are  waiting  to 
crop  you  also.  "  Be  wise  to-day  ;  't  is  madness  to 
defer,"  cries  Dr.  Young,  in  his  suggestive  "  Night 
Thoughts,"  a  book  written  for  after-dark  reflection, 
—  the  very  time  when  your  unhallowed  business 
begins.  Think,  gentlemen,  how  party-colored  trou- 
sers would  become  such  nimble  legs  as  yours ! 
Would  iron  bracelets  ornament  a  pair  of  wrists  in 
close  proximity  to  taper  fingers  such  as  you  ex- 
hibit, —  fingers  educated,  I  am  informed,  by  adepts 
in  reducing  size  to  especial  emergencies'?  Gentle- 
men, I  will  pursue  no  further  a  course  of  thought 
distasteful  perhaps  to  sensitive  spirits  and  unwel- 
come to  household  artists  like  yourselves.  I  will 
venture  the  hope,  however,  that  you  will,  in  all 
future  exploits  on  my  own  premises,  do  me  the 
particular  favor  to  abstain  from  wanton  acts  of 
cruelty  to  "  lifeless  and  inanimate  clay "  (to  say 
nothing  of  marble),  —  acts 

"  That  make  such  waste  in  brief  mortality." 


94    FAMILIAR  LETTER  TO  HOUSE-BREAKERS. 

Ill  closing  this  epistle,  let  me  remind  your  brother- 
hood of  an  observation  written  years  ago  by  a 
brilliant  and  thoughtful  French  woman,  when 
describing  a  certain  notorious  and  infamous  char- 
acter who  figured  a  long  time  since  in  high  Pa- 
risian circles :  "  There  are  two  little  inconvenien- 
ces," said  she,  "which  make  it  difficult  for  any  one 
to  undertake  his  funeral  oration,  —  namely,  his  life 
and  his  death  !  "  This  remark  is  equally  valuable 
to  those  of  us  who  move  in  a  lower  stratum  of 
society  than  the  archbishop  whom  Madame  was 
depicting.  Take  care,  gentlemen  with  fractured 
reputations,  devourers  of  widows'  houses,  and 
breakers  and  enterers  generally,  or  your  own  dark 
records,  like  that  of  the  great  prelate's,  may  de- 
prive you  also  of  those  obsequies  which  he  for- 
feited by  the  habitual  sequestration  of  other 
people's  property  and  the  application  of  it  to  his 
own  unbridled  and  selfish  uses. 

Gentlemen,  I  have  no  reluctance  now  in  bidding 

you  farewell,  and,  in  doing  so,  I  sincerely  wish  it 

may  erelong  be  said  of  all  your  tribe  individually, 

what  Lucullus  in  the  play  observes  of  Timon  :  — 

"  Every  man  has  his  fault,  and  Honesty  is  his." 


OUB  VILLAGE  DOGMATIST, 


OUR  VILLAGE  DOGMATIST. 


F  "  to  be  wise  were  to  be  obstinate,  "  Un- 
derbill has  lately  lost  its  incarnation  of 
wisdom.  A  few  months  ago  w«  followed 
to  his  corner-lot  in  the  windy  graveyard  all  that 
was  mortal  (and  there  was  considerable  of  it)  of 
"old  Cap'n  Barker  Brine,"  as  he  was  familiarly 
called  by  man,  woman,  and  child  in  our  little  com- 
munity. Born  with  protruded  lips  and  elevated 
eyebrows,  he  was  for  many  years  our  village 
doubter,  oracle,  and  critic,  —  our  tyrannical  master 
of  opinion  in  all  public  and  private  matters ;  and 
even  now  the  prelude  to  any  wise  commonplace  is, 
"  Old  Cap'n  Brine  used  to  say"  He  is  already  a 
classic  in  Underbill,  and  will  be  quoted  for  cen- 


98  OUR    VILLAGE  DOGMATIST. 

turies  to  come,  no  doubt.  "  Cap'n  Barker  Brine 
said  so"  will  always  be  familiar  in  the  common 
mouth,  and  will  settle  many  a  disputed  point  — 
theological,  political,  and  domestic  —  for  genera- 
tions yet  to  advance  and  take  possession  of  these 
quaint  streets  and  antique  dwellings.  What  he 
said  was  ordinary,  unoriginal,  and  absurdly  illogi- 
cal, but  it  was  the  way  he  said  it  that  produced 
an  effect.  He  had  "  great  command  of  language," 
but  the  commodity  was  good  for  nothing  after  it 
had  been  commanded.  He  evinced  a  constitu- 
tional determination  to  verbiage  unsurpassed  in 
the  records  of  inanity,  and  only  those  who  knew 
him  could  possibly  appreciate  his  affluence  of  rig- 
marole. He  was  a  colloquial  inebriate,  constantly 
tumbling  about  in  a  kind  of  verbal  delirium  tre- 
mens.  For  instance,  I  remember  one  thick,  foggy- 
day  he  rolled  into  the  post-office,  where  we  were 
all  assembled  to  wait  for  the  morning  mail ;  and, 
on  being  appealed  to  for  an  explanation  of  the 
cause  which  brings  about  the  heavy  mists  which 
so  frequently  envelop  us  at  Underbill,  he  leaned 
thoughtfully  on  his  walking-stick  and  thus  deliv- 


OUR    VILLAGE  DOGMATIST.  99 

ered  himself,  in  a  swelling,  majestic  tone,  that 
implied  long  and  mysterious  study  over  the  phe- 
nomenon :  "  When  the  Atmosphere  and  Hermisphere 
comes  together,  it  causes  the  earth  to  sweat,  and  thereby 
produces  a  fog  !  "  The  learned  manner  in  which 
the  Cap'n  pronounced  these  idiotic  words  estab- 
lished conviction  in  the  minds  of  nearly  all  the 
listeners  present. 

The  Cap'n  was  a  bulky  person,  and  he  needed 
to  be  so;  for  only  an  extra-sized  individual  could 
have  carried  around  such  "  ponderous  syllables  "  as 
he  encircled. 

Susan  G.,  who  gladdens  our  summer  cliffs  with 
her  presence,  and  whose  sense  of  humor  is  one  of 
her  prominent  delightful  qualities,  hoards  up  ques- 
tions all  winter  to  stagger  the  Cap'n  with  during 
July  and  August.  She  says  she  has  never  yet 
been  put  off  sans  answer,  no  matter  ho\v  absurd 
the  interrogation.  The  Cap'n  cannot  afford  to 
appear  unknowing  in  his  native  Underbill,  before 
anybody.  Susan,  encountering  him  one  day  at 
the  little-of-e  very  thing  shop,  boldly  marched  up  to 
the  chair  he  was  sitting  in,  surrounded  by  his  ad- 


100  OUR    VILLA GE  DO GMA  TIS T. 

miring  townsmen,  and  inquired,  "  Is  there  any  dif- 
ference, Captain,  between  a  radical  and  a  barnacle1?" 

" It 's  the  same  specie,  —  the  same  specie"  loftily 
rejoined  the  philosopher,  with  a  half-negligent, 
self-satisfied  air,  waving  off  Susan  to  a  more  re- 
moved corner  of  the  shop.  S.  says  there  was  a 
general  consciousness  of  superiority  in  the  tone  in 
which  the  Cap'n  said  this,  that  no  attempted 
imitation  could  possibly  delineate.  It  was  the 
meridian  triumph  of  small  vanity  and  ignorant 
readiness,  which  only  the  Cap'n's  experience  knew 
how  to  combine.  S.  declares  it  was  inherent,  con- 
summate genius  ! 

The  blank  uniformity  of  opinion  in  our  small 
community  was  due  entirely  to  the  influence  of 
this  oracular,  seaworthy  old  inhabitant,  full  as 
he  was  of  misinformation  and  conceit.  He  had 
picked  up,  in  his  early  wanderings  about  the 
world,  a  collection  of  high-sounding  phrases,  which 
he  never  omitted  to  employ  when  the  time  came, 
and  they  never  failed  to  produce  an  effect.  The 
sound  of  a  word  was  more  to  him  than  the  sense  it 
conveyed.  He  found  twenty  different  uses  for  the 


OUR  VILLAGE  DOGMATIST.  101 

same  expression.  He  had  a  natural  disrelish  for 
simplicity,  and  craved  the  show  of  things.  When 
a  poor,  half-crazed  fellow,  in  a  fit  of  despondency, 
jumped  into  the  water,  and  .was  taken  out  before 
he  had  time  to  drown,  the  Cap'n,  in  telling  the 
story,  said  the  man  had  "  committed  suicide  tem- 
porarily'1 Observing  some  thin  boards  under  his 
arm  as  he  was  proceeding  homeward  to  dinner,  I 
asked  him  what  they  were  for,  and  he  informed 
me  they  were  for  "piazzary  purposes."  Showing 
him  an  ingenious  contrivance  for  washing  clothes, 
which  regulated  itself,  he  assumed  an  artistic  ex- 
pression, and  said,  "  Yes,  sir,  I  preceive  it  is  a  self- 
digesting  machine."  He  affected  to  be  what  he 
called  " a  studier  of  complaints"  and  he  made  fre- 
quent allusions  to  a  "  suggestion  of  the  brain," 
and  "longevity  of  the  spinal  marrow,"  whatever 
these  diseases  might  be.  He  spoke  disparagingly 
of  people  who  kept  a  "  revenue  of  servants,"  and 
a  fresh,  healthy  breeze  from  the  north  he  called 
an  "embracing  air."  For  the  clergy  generally  he 
had  just  contempt,  and  always  spoke  of  them  as 
" ignorameans"  One  of  his  favorite  phrases,  "the 


102  OUR  VILLAGE  DOGMATIST. 

Iin2  of  demarcation"  he  employed  every  day  of  his 
life,  and  it  was  amusing  to  note  how  he  pressed 
it  into  conversation  even  on  the  most  inopportune 
occasions.  You  could  not  be  long  in  his  company 
without  culling  the  information  that  he  had  seen 
"  the  great  Cooper  play  Richard  the  King  "  ;  that 
he  had  "  shaken  hands  with  Old  Hickory "  (Gen- 
eral Jackson);  that  he  had  "held  an  argument 
once  with  a  bishop,"  whom  he  complimentarily 
described  as  "a  high-toned,  pompous  gentleman  " ; 
and  that  he  had  frequently  sailed  "  among  the 
Spanish  islands."  "  When  I  was  master  of  the 
old  Numy  "  (Numa  Pompilius  1)  prefaced  many  of 
his  impossible  adventures;  and  he  constantly  re- 
ferred to  a  period  when  he  saw  a  mermaid  "off 
the  coast  of  Gibberalter."  "  What  the  Frenchman 
calls  Kick-shoes"  (quelque-chose)  was  an  every-day 
phrase  with  him.  "As  the  Sweden-virgin*  (Swe- 
denborgians)  believe,"  was  another.  He  quoted 
frequently  from  "the  Pitomy,"  whatever  that 
might  be ;  probably  it  was  the  Epitome  of  some- 
thing or  other,  —  perhaps  an  old-time  nautical 
volume.  One  of  his  favorite  axioms  was  this  : 


OUR  VILLAGE  DOGMATIST.  103 

"When  a  man  understands  navigation  he  under- 
stands everything "  ;  and  there  was  no  one  in 
Underhill  to  dispute  the  assertion. 

The  Cap'n's  admiration  for  the  First  Napo- 
leon was  profusely  vociferous  whenever  occasion 
offered.  Indeed,  his  worship  extended  to  all  the 
Bonaparte  family,  and  he  spoke  as  familiarly  of 
Joseph  and  Jerome  as  of  his  own  brethren  of  the 
sea.  But,  instead  of  declaring  himself,  as  he 
meant  no  doubt  to  do,  a  Napoleon.ist,  he  always 
made  the  mistake  of  asserting  that  he  was  a 
"  stanch  Neapolitan"  having  early  in  life,  no 
doubt,  got  the  impression  that  was  the  word 
most  expressive  of  his  homage  for  the  Napoleon 
dynasty. 

He  would  read  steadily  by  the  hour  in  an  anti- 
quated dictionary  called  "Perry's  Royal  Stand- 
ard " ;  but  Plutarch  and  Pope,  he  said,  engaged 
his  attention  more  constantly  than  all  other  au- 
thors. Somehow  he  had  got  a  confused  idea  that 
they  were  contemporary  writers. 

This  was  the  person  who  dominated  Underhill, 
proving  conclusively  that  a  man  is  apt  to  be  esti- 


104  OUR  VILLAGE  DOGMATIST. 

mated  everywhere  according  as  he  estimates  him- 
self. We  all  lived  under  the  sway  of  his  critical 
faculty,  and  accepted  his  dictum  from  mere  force 
of  habit.  Nobody  cared  to  praise  or  find  fault 
with  the  paint  on  a  new  house,  the  style  of  a  new 
barn,  the  color  of  a  new  cow,  the  gait  of  a  new 
horse,  the  sermons  of  a  new  minister,  until  the 
Cap'n  had  "  pronounced  upon  them."  I  remember 
he  spoiled  all  the  chances  of  settling  an  excellent 
young  clergyman  in  our  parish  by  saying  of  the 
new  candidate,  that  "his  thoughts  ivas  poor,  and  his 
manners  in  the  pulpit  was  prepostuous."  Some  few 
of  the  parishioners  attempted  a  dissent  from  this 
judgment,  but  it  availed  nothing.  "  Old  Cap'n 
Brine  don't  like  him  "  settled  the  matter,  but  not 
the  minister. 

The  Cap'n's  wife  had  died  in  middle  life,  and  we 
were  informed  by  the  only  old  lady  in  the  parish 
who  dared  to  speak  disparagingly  of  the  village 
oracle,  that  "  Maria  Brine  was  harnsum  as  a  picter 
when  she  was  young,"  but  that  she  was  worn  out 
by  her  husband's  contempt  for  every  word  she  ut- 
tered in  his  presence,  —  "scorched  by  his  disdain." 


OUR  VILLAGE  DOGMATIST.  105 

If  the  meek  woman  happened  to  make  a  remark 
on  any  subject  under  consideration,  he  would 
fiercely  demand  how  she  came  to  know  anything 
about  it !  "I  believe  to  my  soul,"  said  our  inform- 
ant, "  he  fairly  mortified  that  poor  creetur  into  her 
grave  long  before  her  time  !  " 

Our  first  encounter  with  the  Cap'n  happened  in 
this  wise.  When  we  first  went  to  look  for  summer 
lodgings  in  Underbill,  the  postmaster  referred  us  to 
"Cap'n  Barker  Brine  down  by  the  p'int,  who  some- 
times took  folks  to  board  as  an  accommodation." 
Steering  coastwise,  according  to  direction,  we  found 
a  stout,  cranberry-colored  personage  mending  some 
old  lobster-nets  that  were  spread  out  on  the  little 
green  lawn  between  the  rocks  at  the  back  of  his 
weather-beaten  house.  We  opened  the  garden- 
gate  and  saluted  the  master  on  his  own  premises ; 
but  he  was  arrogantly  oblivious,  or  pretended  to 
be,  that  two  strangers  had  entered  on  his  domain. 

"  Is  Captain  Brine  at  home  1 "  we  inquired. 

"  He  is,"  deliberately  responded  the  proud  pro- 
prietor. 

"  Can  we  see  him  ] "  one  of  us  ventured  to  ask. 


106  OUR  VILLAGE  DOGMATIST. 

"You  can,"  responded  the  retired  mariner,  who 
still  went  on,  like  a  determined  old  spider,  labori- 
ously mending  his.  nets. 

Coming  nearer  to  the  point,  we  asked  if  he  were 
Captain  Brine. 

"  I  am,"  he  replied  ;  and  taking  from  his  jacket- 
pocket  a  half-decayed  clay  pipe,  proceeded  to  look 
down  the  bowl  as  if  the  vista  were  a  mile  or  two 
long,  assuming  all  the  while  the  appearance  of  a 
philosopher  "tracking  Suggestion  to  her  inmost 
cell." 

"  We  have  come  to  look  for  board  this  summer, 
Captain,  and  we  've  taken  the  liberty  to  inquire 
here." 

"Nobody  henders  ye,"  jerked  out  the  net- 
mender. 

"Is  there  good  fishing  off  these  rocks,  Cap- 
tain T' 

"  'Cordin'  to  what  yon  call  good  ! "  he  replied. 

"  Professor  Agassi z  says  this  is  a  capital  place 
for  perch,"  we  ventured  to  remark. 

"  Old  Gashus  don't  know  everything,"  responded 
the  Cap'u. 


OUR  VILLAGE  DOGMATIST.  107 

"  But  he  knows  a  great  deal  about  fishes,  having 
made  them  a  special  study,"  we  rejoined. 

"  I  can  learn  Gashus  and  all  the  rest  of  'em 
their  A  B  C ! "  roared  the  Cap'n,  with  an  exple- 
tive at  the  end  of  his  defiant  remark. 

Not  caring  to  dispute  with  the  irate  old  mariner 
as  to  the  relative  piscatory  knowledge  of  the  great 
professor  and  himself,  we  brought  round  the  con- 
versation to  its  starting-point,  and  begged  to  know 
if  he  could  "  accommodate  "  us  for  two  months  in 
his  cottage.  The  old  man  gave  a  contemptuous 
glance  from  under  his  shaggy  gray  brows,  and  thus 
delivered  himself:  "In  the  fust  place,  I'm  not 
acquainted  with  ye.  In  the  second  place,  you  're 
too  set  in  your  notions  for  me.  In  the  third 
place,  we  don't  take  boarders  no  more." 

Some  time  after  this  encounter  we  came  to 
know  the  Cap'n  intimately,  and  were  frequently 
honored  with  invitations  to  fish  with  him.  Well 
might  a  plain,  unlettered  farmer,  who  feared  we 
might  underrate  the  Cap'n's  powers,  observe  in 
our  hearing  with  considerable  emphasis,  "Cap'n 
Barker  Brine  can  handle  logic  just  as  well  as  I  can 


108  OUR  VILLAGE  DOGMATIST. 

handle  a  hoe  !  "  The  logic  was  poor  enough,  to  be 
sure,  but  0,  the  manner  of  it,  the  handling,  — 
therein  consisted  jts  greatness]  He  measured 
everything  by  the  shadow  of  his  own  paucity  of 
intellect,  mistaking  himself  all  the  while  for  a 
mental  giant.  His  ideas  had  been  deranged  by  the 
village  flattery  of  attention  to  his  opinions,  until 
he  came  to  consider  his  own  feeble  and  foolish 
judgments  a  necessity  for  the  welfare  of  mankind. 
Having  no  humility  to  begin  with,  vanity,  nur- 
tured in  a  weak  community,  soon  grafted  itself  on 
such  a  nature,  and  self-conceit  blossomed  and 
flourished  accordingly.  His  godship  among  the 
natives  became  a  fact  which  he  never  once  ques- 
tioned. 

It  is  said  that  shortly  before  the  Cap'n  passed 
away,  he  turned  to  an  old  neighbor  who  was  watch- 
ing at  his  bedside,  and  with  a  kind  of  short-breath 
ostentation  gave  this  his  last  order :  "  Ira  Cof- 
fin !  let  tJie  line  of  demarcation  proceed  from  this  end 
of  the  house  !  "  He  was  evidently  babbling  of  his 
funeral  corteye,  and  the  closing  passage  in  "  Enoch 
Arden "  came  to  my  mind,  as  the  dwellers  in 


OUR  VILLAGE  DOGMATIST.  109 

Underbill  solemnly  formed  and  marched  in  their 
Sunday  garments  at  the  obsequies  of  Captain 
Brine  :  — 

"And  when  they  buried  him  the  little  port 
Had  seldom  seen  a  costlier  funeral." 

Truly  says  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  "  Man  is  a  no- 
ble animal,  splendid  in  ashes,  and  pompous  in  the 
grave ! " 


A  WATCH  THAT  "WANTED  CLEANING," 


A  WATCH  THAT  "WANTED   CLEANING." 


THINK  I  never  saw  a  person  who 
needed  renewal  of  garments  in  a  more 
pronounced  degree  than  the  gaunt  in- 
dividual I  encountered  a  few  weeks  ago  in  Omaha. 
We  met  casually  on  the  upland  overlooking  Coun- 
cil Bluffs,  whither  I  had  gone  for  a  morning  walk 
in  that  city  of  newness  and  hospitality.  The  man 
was  sitting  on  the  stump  of  a  recently  heheaded 
tree,  regarding  a  watch,  which  he  now  and  then 
held  up  in  a  kind  of  hopeless  manner,  and  listened 
to  for  a  sign  of  life  from  its  inner  apartments. 
When  he  saw  me  approaching  he  rose  up  and 
asked  for  "  the  time  o'  day."  As  I  had  only 
"  Boston  time,"  and  that  was  of  no  use  so  far  "  out 


114    A    WATCH   THAT  "WANTED   CLEANING." 


West,"  he  sighed,  again  shook  the  unresponsive 
article  in  his  hand,  and  spoke  as  follows  :  — 
"  This  'ere  watch,  stranger,  's  a  puzzler.  Some 
thing 's  the  matter  with  'er.  I  've  seen  a  good-die 
of  trouble  in  my  day,  but  nothin'  at  all  like  this 
afore.  In  my  younger  days  I  once  had  a  personal 
difficulty  with  a  bear,  but  that  was  fun  compared 
to  this  affliction." 

Noticing  a  settled  grief  on  the  poor  fellow's 
soiled  and  sunken  countenance,  I  sat  down  beside 
him  on  the  ample  resting-place  he  had  chosen,  and 
made  inquiry  as  to  the  cause  of  his  untimely  sorrowr. 
After  a  brief  pause  he  thus  unburdened  himself: — 
"  Stranger,  if  you  was  in  the  watch  line,  we  'd  have 
nothing  to  do  with  one  another ;  but  as  you  ain't, 
I  don't  mind  givin'  you  'er  history,  which  you  '11 
allow  is  somewhat  discouragin'.  I  bought  'er  two 
months  ago  in  She-cargo  for  sixteen  dollars  down 
and  five  dollars  in  poultry.  I  had  'er  of  a  fine- 
lookin'  man  who  keeps  jewillry  on  the  sidewalk 
down  by  the  Palmer  House.  He  was  a  perfect 
gentleman  in  appearance,  wore  studs  himself,  and 
his  conversation  was  high-toned.  He  said  he  was  a 


A    WATCH   THAT  "WANTED    CLEANING."    115 

member  in  reg'lar  standin'  of  more  'n  fifty  churches 
in  various  parts  of  the  United  States  where  he 
traded.  He  said  he  set  his  life  by  the  watch,  but 
would  part  with  'er  if  he  was  shore  the  man  he 
sold  'er  to  was  a  moral  man,  and  would  take  good 
care  of  'er.  He  said  she  was  wunst  the  property 
of  a  particular  friend  o'  hisn,  one  o*  the  craovvned 
heads  o'  Ure-up,  but  the  king  was  obleeged  to  sell 
'er  on  accoaunt  of  a  change  in  his  circumstarnces. 
He  said  there  was  more  'n  two  hundred  jewills  in 
'er  which  was  invisible  to  the  naked  eye.  Waal, 
to  make  a  long  story  short,  I  negoshated  for  'er 
on  the  spot,  and  I  'member  just  as  well  as  if 't  was 
yisterday,  he  said  she  would  n't  warnt  cleanin'  ef 
I  car'd  'er  in  mur  pocket,  keerful,  for  twenty 
year. 

"So,  ye  see,  I  took  'er  'long  to  Rock  Island 
on  the  Mississippi,  where  I  live,  but  she  seemed 
to  go  on  the  jump  all  the  way  daown.  Waal, 
I  carried  'er  into  Jason's  one  day,  and  asked 
him  to  give  a  look  into  'er  insides,  and  tell  me, 
ef  he  could,  what  made  'er  act  so.  He  screwed 
his  old  glass  into  the  right  eye,  and  arter  a  while 


116    A    WATCH  THAT  "WANTED   CLEANING." 

he  laid  'er  down  on  the  coaunter,  and  says  he, 
1  She  's  a  powerful  good  watch,  but  she  warnts 
cleanin' ! '  When  I  heerd  that,  I  was  dumb- 
founded. Says  I,  '  She  was  cleaned  all  over  last 
week.'  Says  he,  '  That  may  be,  but  she  's  full  o' 
dirt  naow.  It  's  dusty  this  fall,'  says  he,  '  and 
some  on  it 's  got  into  'er.'  Waal,  I  thought  it  all 
over,  and  said  he  might  go  to  work  on  'er  next 
day ;  and  he  charged  me  tew  dollars  and  fifty 
cents  for  cleanin'  on  'er  aout.  Pooty  soon  I  had 
to  go  off  to  Aurory,  and  she  begun  to  act  quair 
agin.  So  I  took  'er  into  a  watchmaker's  there, 
and  asked  him  to  fling  his  eye  round,  and  see 
what  ailed  'er.  Waal,  he  did,  for  ez  much  as  five 
miuits,  and  then  says  he,  '  She  's  a  fust-rate  watch, 
but  she  warnts  cleanin' ! '  Says  I  (and  I  could  n't 
help  gittiu'  riled  then),  '  She  's  bin  cleaned  aout 
twice  lately,  and  that  's  a  fact.'  '  Waal,'  says  he, 
'  I  never  seed  a  dirtier,  and  if  she  ain't  'tended  to, 
double  quick,  in  twenty-four  hours  she  '11  bust  of 
'er  own  accord,  and  fly  all  to  pieces,  and  never  go 
agin.'  This  illarmed  me,  nat'rally,  and  so  I  told 
him  to  strip  'er  and  go  to  work  with  his  tooth- 


A    WATCH  THAT  "WANTED   CLEANING."    117 

brush  and  things,  and  I  'd  pay  him  what  was 
right.  So  he  did,  and  he  sot  down  on  me  for  one 
seventy-five,  and  one  fifty  for  what  he  called  in- 
side-entle  expenses.  Waal,  she  went  ellygant  all 
the  way  on  to  Milwaukee,  but  the  fust  night  I  got 
thar  she  begun  to  hitch  and  sputter  to  that  ex- 
tent I  run  over  to  a  watchmaker,  early  in  the 
mornin',  for  assistance.  Waal,  he  turned  'er  over 
three  or  four  times,  and  kind  o'  smiled  at  the 
ruinblin'  inside  on  'er.  Then  he  looked  thoughtful 
and  pried  'er  open.  Says  I,  '  Enny  thing  serious  ? ' 
Says  he,  —  and  his  reply  run  through  me  like  a 
fawk,  —  says  he,  '  She  's  a  remarkable  good  time- 
piece, but  she  warnts  cleanin  ! '  Waal,  to  make  an 
end  to  mur  story,  I  had  'er  put  through  his  mill, 
and  some  o'  his  ile  slung  into  'er.  He  said  't  was 
such  a  ugly  job  (I  told  him  when  he  took'  er  in 
hand  to  be  careful  o'  the  invisible  jewills),  that  his 
bill  would  be  four  dollars  and  ten  cents,  the  ten 
cents  bein'  for  fingerin'  careful  round  the.  reubies 
and  things.  Waal,  Sir,  she  cut  up  agin  last 
night,  and  I  stept  in  to  Cross  &  Jones's,  and  asked 
their  young  man  to  ixamine  'er  parts,  and  pro- 


118    A    WATCH  THAT  "WANTED    CLEANING." 

noaunce  upon  ?er.  Waal,  he  rubbed  in  his  mag- 
nify ing-glass,  and  screwtenized  'er,  and  says  be, 
*  That 's  the  most  valuble  watch  I  ever  seed  inside 

o'  Omaha,  but  she  warnts  cleaning  most y  ! ' 

When  I  heerd  that,  I  expressed  myself  like  a  dis- 
gusted night-hawk,  and  snatched  'er  aout  o'  his 
hands,  and  brought  'er  raound  here  to  ponder  over. 
What  I  wish  to  inquire  is,  Stranger  (and  I  ask 
for  information),  how  many  times  a  watch  thet  's 
full  o'  invisible  jewills  has  to  be  cleaned  aout  in 
the  course  o'  two  months'?  I  never  owned  one 
afore,  but  if  the  jewills  nee-sessiates  that  expense, 
as  I  'm  a  pore  man,  had  n't  I  better  have  'em 
punched  aout,  don't  you  think  1 " 

And  I  advised  him  to  have  the  "jewills  "re- 
moved immediately,  and  sold  in  Europe  for  the 
most  they  would  bring. 


BOTEEKSOME    PEOPLE, 


BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE. 


ASTER  SLOWWORM,  the  grammarian, 
on  glancing  at  the  title  of  this  paper, 
will  affirm,  without  contradiction,  that 
the  word  bothersome  cannot  be  found  in  the  dic- 
tionary. I  retort  on  our  verbal  patriarch  the 
equally  truthful  remark  that  neither  does  the 
word  enthusiasm  exist  in  Shakespeare!  And  just 
there  I  leave  Master  Slowworm's  objection. 

There  are  loose  superfluous  mortals  who  seern 
to  have  come  into  the  world  on  a  special  mis- 
sion to  break  the  Ten  Commandments ;  and  they 
would  do  it  all  at  one  blow,  if  possible.  But  I  do 
not  reckon  them  among  the  bothersome  people 
of  our  planet.  The  law  kindly  looks  after  those 


122  BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE. 

who  thus  meddle  wickedly  with  certain  portions 
of  the  Decalogue,  and  deals  justly  with  them  all. 
But  the  bother ers  in  life  escape  unpunished,  and 
go  to  their  graves  unbranded  with  infamy.  Their 
tombstones  are  often,  nay,  commonly,  placed  in 
the  most  respectable  corners  of  the  graveyard ; 
and  I  have  found,  not  infrequently,  the  word 
virtue  engraven  on  their  marbles.  Annoyances, 
not  sins,  have  been  their  offences  against  man, 
woman,  and  children  kind ;  and  it  was  in  little 
things  they  performed  their  abominations,  while 
sojourning  above  ground. 

In  yonder  breezy  mound  sleeps  all  that  was 
mortal  of  Mr.  Benjamin  Borax.  The  inscription 
above  his  bones  does  not  record  all  his  worldly 
accomplishments.  He  had  one  trait  which  the 
stone-cutter  has  omitted ;  and  I  refer  to  it,  in 
passing,  simply  in  justice  to  B.  B.'s  remains. 
Having  had  his  acquaintance  forty  long  and  tedi- 
ous years,  I  am  qualified  to  speak  feelingly  of 
the  man ;  and  I  do  it  without  a  particle  of  malice, 
or  exultation  at  his  removal  from  my  "list  of 
friends."  But  I  will  say  that,  while  he  was  living, 


BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE.  123 

after  an  experience  elongated  through  the  period 
I  have  mentioned,  death  had  no  longer  any  ter- 
rors for  the  members  of  my  immediate  family 
or  myself.  B.  B.  never  meant  to  "hurt  any- 
body's feelings."  "  He  would  n't  kill  a  fly  "  might 
have  been  chiselled  with  the  rest  of  his  church- 
yard eulogy.  But  he  bothered  all  who  knew  him 
to  the  very  verge  of  unforgiveness.  When  he 
entered  your  house,  fear  fell  upon  all  its  inmates ; 
for  his  want  of  tact  and  courtesy,  his  utter  obliv- 
ion to  those  small  decencies  which  make  social  life 
sweet  and  commendable,  often  rendered  his  pres- 
ence, not  to  speak  it  profanely,  little  short  of 
infernal.  Bearing  about  an  incapacity  for  hap- 
piness on  his  countenance,  he  would  come  unsmil- 
ing and  unbidden  into  your  nursery,  and  frighten, 
by  the  very  awkwardness  in  his  face,  the  small  oc- 
cupants almost  into  idiocy.  Not  knowing  how 
to  approach  tJie  infant  sense,  he  bothered  the  little 
ones  by  his  miscalculations  at  direful  pleasantry 
with  them.  Dickens  mentions  a  cruel  propensity 
which  some  people  have  of  rumpling  the  hair  of 
small  boys,  as  if  they  were  little  dogs  that  ought 


124  BO THERSOME  PEOPLE. 

to  be  rubbed  up  somewhere.  No  sooner  does 
a  sleek  young  fellow  enter  the  room,  with  his 
hair  "all  in  order  for  company,"  than  up  starts 
some  great  stupid  visitor  to  begin  a  friendship 
with  the  lad  by  wobbling  up  his  carefully  brushed 
locks  into  a  tangled  mop  of  uncomeliness.  Such 
a  bothersome  old  towzer  was  B.  B. ;  and  I  confess 
it  was  not  without  a  secret  satisfaction  that  I 
once  saw  little  Peter  F.  administer  him  a  sturdy 
kick  on  his  unprotected  ankles  during  the  very 
act  of  mangling  up  the  urchin's  pretty  golden 
curls.  When  I  called  Peter  to  account  next 
morning  for  this  belligerent  outbreak  of  temper, 
he  said,  with  considerable  emphasis,  that  he  'd 
"  do  it  again,  if  Mr.  Borax  meddled  with  him  ! " 
(P.  F.  at  that  time  was  aged  six,  and  went  to  bed 
habitually,  without  a  murmur,  at  eight  o'clock  !) 

Children  hate  to  be  bothered  with  questions, 
both  in  and  out  of  school ;  and  yet  how  we  bore 
them  with  catechismal  demands,  almost  in  their 
very  cradles.  As  soon  as  they  are  old  enough 
to  stammer  out  a  reply,  we  arraign  their  little 
wits,  and  seek  to  make  them  respond  to  such 


BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE.  125 

foolish  whimsies  as,  " How  old  was  Methuselah]" 
"  Who  discovered  America  1 "  "  What  do  two  and 
two  make1?"  and  the  like.  Nervous  little  Rob 
R.  was  nearly  frightened  into  fits  one  day,  when 
bungling  old  Parson  Pew,  in  his  hard,  unsmiling 
way,  with  a  voice  like  thunder,  asked  him  sud- 
denly, "Who  made  the  world  in  six  days,  and 
rested  on  the  seventh  V'  "I  did  ! ""  screamed  the 
child,  bursting  into  tears,  "  but  —  I'll  —  never  — 
do  so  —  any  more  !  "  Poor  Bob  was  bothered  into 
assuming  to  himself  the  formation  of  a  universe, 
and  told  a  sinless  lie  in  order  to  blurt  out  a 
promise  of  future  good  conduct. 

Emerson,  in  one  of  his  wise,  characteristic  sen- 
tences, says  we  sometimes  meet  a  person  who, 
if  good  manners  had  not  existed,  would  have  in- 
vented them.  I  know  a  cumberer  of  my  neigh- 
borhood who  wotild  have  originated  bothersome 
bad  ones,  if  the  article  had  not  previously  been 
contrived.  He  brings  his  total  wealth  of  infe- 
licities with  him  wherever  he  comes.  When  he 
enters  your  dwelling,  mental  chaos  begins.  He 
is  anxious  and  peppery,  albeit  he  is  uncertain, 


126  BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE. 

even  to  the  very  Anno  Domini  in  which  he  is 
at  present  breathing  and  fuming.  He  looks  en- 
cyclopaedias, but  utters  himself  in  primers.  He 
is  a  perfect  master  of  Misreport.  His  mind  could 
be  dispensed  with,  like  a  decayed  turnip,  or  an 
out-of-date  oyster;  and  he  forgets  an  event 
before  he  knows  it.  Gravity  and  lassitude  would 
better  become  his  lack-brain-itudenarian  habit ; 
but  he  chooses  to  be  conversational  and  informa- 
tive. He  never  keeps  an  appointment.  Every- 
thing "  slips  his  mind."  He  carries  two  watches, 
but  he  never  knows  the  time  of  day ;  nor  (I  am 
bound  to  say  it)  of  night,  either.  Once  seated  at 
your  winter  fireside,  he  "outwatches  the  bear." 
He  begins  a  story  as  the  clock  strikes  Twelve,  and 
when  the  coal  is  declining  to  burn  any  longer. 
It  is  near  One  when  the  uneasy  shadow  departs, 
volunteering,  as  he  goes,  the  unsolicited  remark 
that  he  is  "  sure  to  come  again  next  week,  when 
he  hopes  to  find  ine  in  better  spirits." 

I  was  charmed  with  J.  W.'s  experience  with  a 
ponderous  country  neighbor  of  his  not  long  ago, 
who  would  "drop  in"  just  as  the  family  were  all 


BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE.  127 

pointing  bedward,  and  then  bother  them  for  an 
hour  or  two  with  puffy  accounts  of  his  ailments. 
J.  W.  keeps  a  parrot,  —  one  of  the  most  sapient 
of  birds,  —  and  he  lets  the  chattering,  companion- 
able creature  walk  about  the  room,  strutting, 
•with  habitual  self-importance,  here  and  there  as 
pretentious  fancy  dictates.  One  night  W.'s  un- 
prepossessing neighbor  settled  himself,  about  nine 
o'clock,  in  front  of  the  crackling  logs,  and  began 
his  usual  hypochondriac  recital.  The  seance 
threatened  to  be  prolonged  into  midnight.  Oba- 
diah's  droning  voice  went  sounding  on  its  "dim 
and  perilous  way  "  ;  and  now  and  then  one  of  the 
female  members  of  the  family  glided  noiselessly 
out  of  the  room,  unnoticed  by  the  dreary  visitor. 
J.  W.  felt  the  need  of  all  his  Christian  fortitude, 
and  was  making  up  his  mind  for  a  sitting  never 
equalled  on  a  similar  occasion  in  length,  when  the 
parrot,  spying  around  Obadiah's  legs,  discovered  a 
bare  spot  lying  between  the  hitched-up  trousers 
and  the  adjacent  stocking.  Working  his  way  cau- 
tiously under  the  chair,  while  the  narrator  was 
deeply  engaged  in  dull  discourse,  the  bird  sud- 


128  BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE. 

denly  pounced  upon  the  uncovered  limb,  and 
adroitly  nipped  out  a  piece  about  the  size  of  a 
small  blister.  The  pain  caused  Obadiah  to  spring 
into  the  air;  and,  seizing  his  hat,  he  left  the 
house,  vowing  vengeance  on  the  "pesky  parrot." 
And  to  this  day  he  declares  he  will  never  enter 
J.  W.'s  mansion  again,  "so  long  as  that  tarnal 
bird  is  round." 

There  is  a  kind  of  long-drawn  bothersome  vis- 
itor, who  has  a  habit  of  disappointing  his  host 
and  hostess  by  constantly  making  little  feints  of 
going  away,  but  never  quite  accomplishing  it. 
Now  he  raises  himself  slowly  from  his  chair,  and 
your  cheated  spirits  rise  with  him.  He  is  about 
to  say  "  good-night/'  you  think.  He  is  preparing 
to  depart !  His  figure  is  partly  out  of  the  seat  in 
which  he  has  been  for  two  hours  planted !  He 
seems  fairly  under  way  !  One  manly  effort  more, 
and  you  are  free  !  Vain  hope  !  it  is  only  to  settle 
himself  more  firmly  that  he  stretches  up,  for  a 
moment,  his  awful  form.  Down  he  sinks  again, 
and  you  are  booked  for  another  hour  of  "dire 
disaster  and  supine  defeat."  0  ye  moths  of 


BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE.  129 

precious  moments !  affable  wolves  of  time !  who 
cat  up  our  very  seed-brain,  and  give  us  nothing 
in  return  but  unprofitable  husks  and  chaff!  What 
golden  hours  ye  have  remorselessly  destroyed, 
feeding  upon  those  priceless,  hoarded  evenings 
that  never  can  be  restored,  —  nights  that  seemed 
made  for  study  and  the  "mind's  most  apt  en- 
deavor " ! 

The  Emperor  Julius  Csesar,  on  one  occasion, 
proved  himself  a  most  bothersome  social  visitor. 
I  read  lately  one  of  Cicero's  letters  to  his  friend 
Atticus,  describing  a  visit  which  the  august  Julius 
had  been  making  at  his  villa;  and  the  epistle 
gives  a  most  ludicrous  account  of  the  Emperor's 
"dropping  in"  upon  him.  It  seems  that  the 
world's  imperial  master  had  sent  word  to  Cicero 
that  he  would  soon  be  along  his  way,  and  would 
give  him  a  call.  The  silver-tongued  orator  was 
only  too  delighted  at  the  promised  honor,  and 
immediately  hurried  off  a  messenger  to  say, 
"  Come,  by  all  means ;  happy  to  see  you  any 
time ;  and  you  must  spend  several  days  with  me." 
On  thfc  morning  of  the  bald-headed  warrior's  ex- 


130  BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE. 

pected  arrival,  we  may  judge  of  Cicero's  aston- 
ishment and  alarm,  when  a  courier  arrived  with 
the  intelligence  that  Julius  was  comfortably  on 
his  way  to  the  villa,  but  that  he  was  attended 
by  a  thousand  men,  who  must  also  be  "put  up," 
as  we  would  say  nowadays;  that  is,  handsomely 
fed  and  sheltered  during  the  Emperor's  little 
visit.  Cicero's  accommodations  .were  not  exten- 
sive, and  his  dismay  corresponded  in  inverse 
ratio  to  the  smalluess  of  his  quarters.  Not  an- 
ticipating any  such  addition  to  his  limited  hos- 
pitalities, he  was  obliged  to  send  out  at  once,  all 
over  the  neighborhood,  for  tents  and  provender; 
and,  borrowing  here  and  there,  he  managed  to 
make  a  fair  appearance  when  the  great  Julius  and 
all  his  host  came  riding  up.  But  writing  about 
the  affair  to  Atticus,  after  the  party  had  gone  on, 
and  tranquillity  had  been  restored  to  his  house, 
he  says,  "The  Emperor  was  very  pleasant,  and 
all  that,  but,  under  the  circumstances,  he  is  not 
a  man  to  whom  I  should  ever  say  again,  '  When 
you  are  passing  this  way  another  time,  sir,  drop 
in  and  give  us  a  call.'" 


BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE.  131 

But  how  various  the  employment  of  your  pro- 
fessionally "bothersome  people"!  Kind-hearted 
B.  C.  told  me  he  had  been  bothered  for  years  by 
a  reforming  inebriate,  who  made  his  acquaintance 
in  this  wise.  B.  is  an  old-fashioned  clergyman 
who  allows  himself  to  be  at  everybody's  call ;  and, 
seated  one  Saturday  morning  busily  "touching 
up  "  his  sermon  for  the  next  day,  Susan  (his  Irish 
footman,  as  he  calls  her)  knocked  at  the  study 
door  (B.  C.  always  writes  in  an  apartment  up  five 
pairs  of  stairs),  and  informed  the  good  padre  that 
"  a  gintleman  warnted  to  see  his  Riverence  down 
in  the  lower  intry."  Now  it  is  a  matter  of  sev- 
eral minutes,  and  much  expenditure  of  leg-power, 
to  descend  those  multitudinous  nights  which  lead 
into  the  hall  below;  but  down  goes  B.,  with  his 
ever-smiling,  ready  courtesy,  to  meet  the  gintle- 
man who  has  so  kindly  called  upon  him.  B.  says 
a  suggestive  odor,  not  at  all  aqueous,  but  com- 
pounded of  various  cheap  and  vile  liquors,  saluted 
his  nostrils  as  he  approached  the  vicinity  of  his 
unknown  caller ;  and  that  when  he  got  fairly  into 
the  hall  he  was  aware  of  a  presence  he  had  never 


132  BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE. 

encountered  before.  The  figure  raised  its  head 
with  difficulty,  and  thus  delivered  itself  some- 
what ostentatiously  :  "  I  am  a  reformed  inebriate, 
Doctor,  and,  having  taken  the  oath,  would  hum- 
bly beg  your  Riverence  to  lend  me  five  dollars  to 
help  me  keep  the  pledge."  B.  C.  affirms  that  he 
could  not  at  the  moment  determine  exactly  how 
that  precise  amount  in  currency  was  to  help  the 
poor  man  in  the  object  named,  but  that  he 
thought  it  best  to  "accommodate  his  caller  to 
the  desired  sum."  Dismissing  the  whilom  ine- 
briate with  such  counsel  as  his  wise  heart  can 
always  command,  B.  went  up  stairs  again  to  his 
dutiful  task.  A  week  went  by,  and  that  morning 
call  had  wellnigh  vanished  from  his  recollection, 
when  Susan  again  appeared  as  heretofore  and  an- 
nounced a  second  visit  to  the  doctor  from  his 
unknown  friend.  Down  went  the  good  man  in 
his  slippers,  anticipating  an  announcement  from 
the  poor  creature  that  success  had  followed  his 
efforts  to  keep  sober,  and  that  he  had  come  to 
express  his  gratitude.  As  B.  was  going  down  the 
last  pair  of  stairs,  the  man,  holding  firmly  on  to 


BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE.  133 

the  baluster  below,  looked  up  confidingly  and  said, 
"  Doctor,  I  've  fallen  again,  and  have  come  for 
five  more  ! "  "I  expostulated  with  him,"  said  the 
doctor,  in  relating  the  incident  to  me,  "but  he 
would  not  retire  until  I  had  repeated  the  loan, 
and  now  he  is  constantly  falling,  and  spends 
half  his  time  in  my  front  entry,  bothering  me 
for  continued  fives  to  enable  him  to  stand  up 
against  temptation." 

There  is  a  French  proverb  which  declares  that 
nothing  is  certain  to  happen  but  the  unforeseen ; 
and  some  bothersome  people  are  constantly  illus- 
trating the  truth  of  this  Gallic  mot.  G.  T.,  from 
his  youth  up,  has  been  a  constant  exemplification 
of  it.  His  watchful  parents  .placed  iron  bars 
across  his  nursery  windows,  but  he  elected  to  fall 
down  the  back  stairs  twice  during  his  nonage,  and 
on  both  occasions  damaged  his  slender  chances  for 
being  reckoned  a  "  pretty  fellow."  All  his  life  long, 
instead  of  hitting  straight  forward,  he  has  bothered 
his  agonized  associates  by  striking  out  sideways 
without  warning,  and  thus  getting  worsted  in  every 
contest.  One  can  never  be  sure  of  him  to  this 


134  BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE. 

day  (he  is  past  seventy  and  alarmingly  vigorous), 
and  he  bothers  his  best  friends  by  unexpected 
infelicities  of  thought  and  action  to  that  degree 
tl^,t  they  sometimes  breathe  the  pious  wish  that 
he  were  an  aged  angel  flying  somewhere  else.  To 
enumerate  his  unlimited  feats  in  the  art  of  bother- 
ation would  require  the  pen  of  a  ready  writer. 

If  G.  T.  always  does  the  wrong  thing  his  kins- 
man X.  as  incontinently  says  the  wrong  one,  and 
bothers  people  in  that  way.  After  reading  and 
delighting  in  that  wonderful  romance,  "  The  Mar- 
ble Faun,"  on  being  introduced  to  the  distin- 
guished author,  X.  asked  him  if  "he  had  ever 
been  in  Italy"  And  it  is  related  that  he  inno- 
cently inquired  of  Mrs.  Stowe  one  day  "  if  she  had 
looked  much  into  the  subject  of  slavery"  !  "Do 
you  take  sugar  in  your  coffee,  Mr.  X.  1 "  asked 
that  careful,  almost  too  immaculate  housekeeper, 
the  hospitable  lady  of  Joy  Cottage,  as  she  handed 
him  a  cup  of  her  aromatic  beverage.  "Never 
when  the  coffee  is  good,"  replied  X.,  bowing  his 
homage  to  our  admirable  hostess.  A  few  moments 
afterwards  we  heard  his  loud,  explosive  voice  call- 


BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE.  135 

ing  after  Tom,  the  servant,  to  "pass  the  sugar  "  / 
Now  there  is  nothing  positively  bad  about  X.  :  on 
the  contrary,  there  is  much  that  is  positively  good 
in  him.  At  the  first  tap  of  the  drum  he  ran  off 
to  the  war,  and  among  its  battle-records  there  are 
no  pages  more  fearless  than  his.  Out  of  his  mod- 
est income  he  supports  one  or  more  indigent  lads 
(sons  of  his  dead  comrades)  at  the  university. 
He  is  generous  without  fault ;  but  he  is  tranquilly 
bothersome  in  the  way  I  have  indicated  to  the  very 
margin  of  patient  endurance.  He  is  a  saint  in 
morals,  but  a  desperate  offender  in  manners. 

My  old  acquaintance  W.  H.  says  the  people  who 
bother  him  most  are  those  human  Curiosity  ter- 
riers who  watch  all  your  sayings  and  doings,  and 
never  let  you  stir  without  following  you  up  every- 
where with  this  keen  scent.  They  wish  to  know 
"  all  about  you."  They  seem  always  on  a  cheerful 
tour  of  investigation  among  other  people's  faults 
or  foibles.  Their  constant  cry  is,  "  Lo  here  !  "  or 
"  Lo  there  !  "  They  study  "  to  find  out  your  mo- 
tives "  even.  They  desire  to  be  informed  (for  their 
own  satisfaction)  what  actuated  you  to  move  thus 


136  BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE. 


or  thus.  Tristram  Shandy  called  this  class  of 
botherers  "  Motive  Mongers,"  and  accused  his  own 
father  of  being  one  of  them.  Tristram  averred 
that  the  old  gentleman  was  a  very  dangerous  per- 
son for  a  man  to  sit  by,  either  laughing  or  crying, 
for  he  generally  knew  your  motive  for  doing  both 
"  much  better  than  you  knew  it  yourself."  Silas 
W.  carried  this  searching  demand  of  reasons  for 
conduct  to  such  a  length  that  I  once  heard  him 
express  a  decided  aversion  to  Moses,  "  for,"  said 
he,  "I  never  could  exactly  fathom  that  man's  mo- 
tives ! " 

Among  the  smaller  brood  of  bothersome  people, 
my  cousin  G.  reckons  those  dense-witted,  circum- 
stantial souls  who  will  interrupt  your  best  story 
with  a  doubt  or  a  denial  of  its  verity.  They  live  in 
an  atmosphere  of  imperfect  sympathies,  and  goad 
you  to  blasphemy  almost  by  their  stolid  unrecep- 
tivity.  The  man  who  robs  your  anecdote  of  its 
prosperity  by  an  ill-timed  arrest  of  its  recital,  says 
G.,  would  bury  his  own  father  before  the  remains 
are  decently  ready  for  sepulture. 

I  had  written  thus  far,  when  a  restless  neighbor 


BOTHERSOME  PEOPLE.  137 

of  mine  called  to  bear  me  away,  over  a  hot  road, 
to  view  a  bloated  bowlder  he  had  discovered  miles 
off,  on  one  of  his  peregrinations.  This  kind,  mis- 
taken soul  constantly  bothers  me  by  insisting  on 
"  showing  me  things  "  I  do  not  desire  to  see.  His 
mania  is  that  of  an  Indicator.  Some  "  prospect," 
some  famous  kitchen-garden,  somebody's  pig  or 
poultry,  anything  big  enough  "to  show,"  trans- 
ports him  into  a  fever  of  exhibition,  and  you  never 
meet  him  but  he  burns  to  take  you  somewhere  to 
see  something,  until  you  long  to  bequeath  him  as 
a  constant  resident  to  the  next  county. 

But  the  length  of  this  paper  is,  I  perceive, 
already  a  glaring  illustration  of  my  subject,  and 
unwittingly  I  become  one  of  the  "Bothersome  Peo- 
ple" I  attempt  to  describe  ! 


PLEASANT  GHOSTS, 


PLEASANT  GHOSTS. 


OFTEN  amuse  myself,  as  I  sit  alone  half- 
dreaming  before  the  fire  in  a  certain 
upper  room,  looking  out  on  the  river 
Charles,  by  calling  up  the  memorable  forms  of 
those  once  active  "ministers  of  thought,"  who  at 
various  periods  during  the  past  twenty  years  have 
slept  in  this  very  apartment,  and  are  now  "to  calm, 
unwaking  silence  consecrate." 

Falling  into  an  afternoon  doze  not  long  ago,  as 
I  rested  in  the  twilight,  "  I  saw  a  vision  in  my 
sleep,"  so  enchanting  in  all  its  details  that  I  shall 
never  forget  the  exquisite  impression  left  on  my 
mind.  I  had  been  re-reading  that  afternoon  Plu- 
tarch's divine  essay  "  On  the  Tranquillity  of  the 
Mind,"  and  had  felt  a  soothing  influence  like  a  dis- 


142  PLEASANT  GHOSTS. 

tilled  aroma  rising  up  out  of  its  lovely  pages.  When 
1  came  to  these  words  I  lingered  over  them  several 
minutes,  half-closing  the  book  :  "  For  as  censers, 
even  after  they  are  empty,  do  for  a  long  'time  re- 
tain their  fragrancy,  as  Carneades  expresseth  it,  so 
the  good  actions  of  a  wise  man  perfume  his  mind, 
and  leave  a  rich  scent  behind  them;  so  that  joy 
is,  as  it  were,  watered  with  these  essences  and 
owes  its  flourishing  to  them."  Then  suddenly  I 
seemed  to  be  listening  to  the  beloved  voice  of  a 
poet,  reading  from  his  manuscript  an  unprinted 
piece,  which,  in  the  kindness  of  an  old  friend- 
ship, he  had  brought  to  gladden  me.  I  thought 
when  he  pronounced  these  words,  — 

"  Where  are  the  others  ?    Voices  from  the  deep 
Caverns  of  darkness  answer  me,  "  They  sleep  !  " 

I  heard  in  the  outer  passage  a  low,  subdued  sym- 
phony played  only  as  a  master-hand  can  call  such 
harmonies  into  being.  The  notes  rippled  on  as  if 
caressed  into  sound  by  a  most  loving  hand,  and 
although  veiled  and  seemingly  remote  in  space, 
they  were  yet  clear  enough  to  be  distinctly  audi- 
ble throughout  the  room.  Now  the  music  was  a 


PLEASANT  GHOSTS.  143 

kind  of  solemn  march,  intermingled  with  chants 
as  if  from  antiphonals,  and  then  it  alternated  into 
labyrinthine  infinities  of  joyous,  mystical  harmony, 
expressive  of  rapturous  praise  and  inexhaustible 
worship.  On  it  seemed  to  come,  — 

"  As  light  and  wind  within  some  delicate  cloud,"  — 
and  pause  outside  the  little  room  where  I  was  sit- 
ting. Soon  the  door  swung  noiselessly  open,  and 
looking  up  I  saw  a  beautiful  procession  of  well- 
known  forms  enter  the  dimly  lighted  apartment. 
The  faces  were  those  I  had  known  in  years  past, 
and  each  countenance  was  radiant  with  a  glow  of 
recognition,  as  it  approached  the  white-haired  poet 
who  sat  reading  his  glowing  lines  in  the  twilight. 
I  was  about  to  apprise  him  of  the  entrance  of  so 
many  old  and  dear  friends  (shadows  although  I 
knew  them  to  be),  when  one  of  the  figures  gave 
me  a  sign  of  warning  not  to  disturb  the  flow  of 
the  poem,  intimating  with  raised  forefinger  that 
they  had  all  come  to  listen.  When  the  last  two 
lines  — 

"  And  as  the  evening  twilight  fades  away, 
The  sky  is  filled  with  stars  invisible  by  day  "— 


144  PLEASANT  GHOSTS. 

fell  from  the  poet's  lips,  and  he  was  folding  up 
the  manuscript  of  "Morituri  Salutamus,"  a  holy- 
silence  seemed  to  pervade  the  room.  Then  the 
symphony  began  again,  and  as  it  now  rose  and 
died  away,  "  a  kind  of  fading  rainbow-music  on 
the  air,"  the  figures  moved  forward  toward  the 
spot  where  their  old  companion  was  sitting.  Each 
one  seemed  to  bend  above  him  for  a  moment  with 
infinite  tenderness  and  illumined  love,  and  then 
to  kiss  his  forehead  twice  with  a  kind  of  rapture. 
I  know  not  how  many  voiceless  spirits  had  thus 
entered  the  room,  for  a  mist  had  fallen  before  my 
eyes;  but  I  recognized  the  never-to-be-forgotten 
forms  of  H.  and  D.  and  S.  and  A.  and  T.  and  K. 
and  F.  and  M.,  — 

"Through  time  and  change  unquenchably  the  same," — 

just  as  I  had  seen  them  come  about  Hyperion  in 
the  old  remembered  days. 

A  brand  falling  on  the  hearth  dispersed  the 
immortal  company,  —  the  living  and  the  dead 
"  inheritors  of  well-fulfilled  renown  "  ;  and  when 
I  descended  to  the  library  and  told  my  wife  what  I 


PLEASANT  GHOSTS.  145 

had  seen  and  heard  up  stairs,  she  said,  with  a  wise 
and  delighted  smile,  "  This  is  what  comes  of  living 
next  door  to  a  great  artist.  I  have  never  heard 
him  play  Beethoven  and  Bach,  through  the  ceil- 
ing, more  divinely  than  he  has  rendered  them 
during  the  last  half-hour.  It  is  a  fortune  in  itself 
to  live  in  the  next  house,  with  thin  partitions 
between,  to  a  master  like  the  Herr  Otto  D.  ;  for 
such  a  neighbor  has  the  power  not  only  to  gladden 
our  waking  hours,  but  to  bring  us  the  blessed 
boon  of  pleasant  dreams." 


THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE, 


THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE. 


were  sitting  around  the  blazing  fire  one 
wet  winter  night,  in  Crawford's  Roman 
studio,  when  somebody  started  the  sub- 
ject of  inherited  wealth  and  talent.  There  were 
half  a  dozen  artists  in  the  group,  and  among  them 
the  handsome  and  successful  Esek  Pettibone.  He 
was  an  aristocratic-looking  youth,  better  dressed 
than  his  companions,  and  his  air  was  that  of  a 
man  who  had  a  pedigree  behind  him  that  entitled 
him  to  hold  up  his  head  anywhere.  None  of  us 
knew  exactly  the  story  of  his  life,  but  we  all 
thought  he  belonged  to  a  "  fine  old  family  "  some- 
where in  America.  After  Crawford,  who  talked 
remarkably  well,  had  told  several  anecdotes  apro- 


150  THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE. 

pos  of  the  subjects  up  for  comment,  he  turned  to 
Mr.  Pettibone,  and  asked  him  to  favor  the  com- 
pany with  a  certain  little  incident  in  his  own  life, 
feeling  sure  that  we  should  all  be  interested  in  the 
narrative.  The  elegant  young  fellow  crossed  his 
legs,  fondled  his  mustache  in  a  way  that  meant 
willingness,  and  told  the  following  bit  of  personal 
history  :  — 

The  name  Esek  Pettibone,  gentlemen,  belongs 
to  a  remote  and  pious  people,  and  I  wish  to  affirm 
in  the  outset  that  it  is  a  good  thing  to  be  well- 
born. In  thus  connecting  the  mention  of  my 
name  with  a  positive  statement,  I  am  not  unaware 
that  a  catastrophe  lies  coiled  up  in  the  juxtaposi- 
tion. But  I  cannot  help  saying  plainly  that  I  am 
still  in  favor  of  a  distinguished  family-tree.  ESTO 
PERPETUA  !  To  have  had  somebody  for  a  great- 
grandfather that  was  somebody  is  exciting.  To 
be  able  to  look  back  on  long  lines  of  ancestry  that 
were  rich,  but  respectable,  seems  decorous  and  all 
right.  The  present  Earl  of  Warwick,  I  think, 
must  have  an  idea  that  strict  justice  has  been 


THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE.  151 

done  him  in  the  way  of  being  launched  properly 
into  the  world.  I  saw  the  Duke  of  Newcastle 
once,  and,  as  the  farmer  in  Con  way  described 
Mount  Washington,  I  thought  the  Duke  felt  a 
propensity  to  "  hunch  up  some."  Somehow  it  is 
pleasant  to  look  down  on  the  crowd  and  have  a 
conscious  right  to  do  so. 

Left  an  orphan  at  the  tender  age  of  four  years, 
having  no  brothers  or  sisters  to  prop  me  round 
with  young  affections  and  sympathies,  I  fell  into 
three  pairs  of  hands,  excellent  in  their  way,  but 
peculiar.  Patience,  Eunice,  and  Mary  Ann  Petti- 
bone  were  my  aunts  on  my  father's  side.  All  my 
mother's  relations  kept  shady  when  the  lonely 
orphan  looked  about  for  protection ;  but  Patience 
Pettibone,  in  her  stately  way,  said :  "  The  boy 
belongs  to  a  good  family,  and  he  shall  never  want 
while  his  three  aunts  can  support  him."  So  I 
went  to  live  with  my  plain  but  benignant  protec- 
tors, in  the  State  of  New  Hampshire. 

During  my  boyhood,  the  best-drilled  lesson  that 
fell  to  my  keeping  was  this  :  "  Respect  yourself. 
We  come  of  more  than  ordinary  parentage.  Su- 


152  THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE. 

perior  blood  was  probably  concerned  in  getting  up 
the  Pettibones.  Hold  your  head  erect,  and  some 
day  you  shall  have  proof  of  your  high  lineage." 

I  remember  once,  on  being  told  that  I  must  not 
share  my  juvenile  sports  with  the  butcher's  three 
little  beings,  I  begged  to  know  why  not.  Aunt 
Eunice  looked  at  Patience,  and  Mary  Ann  knew 
what  she  meant. 

*'  My  child,"  slowly  murmured  the  eldest  sister, 
"  our  family  no  doubt  came  of  a  very  old  stock ; 
perhaps  we  belong  to  the  nobility.  Our  ancestors, 
it  is  thought,  came  over  laden  with  honors,  and  no 
doubt  were  embarrassed  with  riches,  though  the 
latter  importation  has  dwindled  in  the  lapse  of 
years.  Respect  yourself,  and  when  you  grow  up 
you  will  not  regret  that  your  old  and  careful  aunt 
did  not  wish  you  to  play  with  butchers'  offspring." 

I  felt  mortified  that  I  had  ever  had  a  desire  to 
"knuckle  up"  with  any  but  kings'  sons  or  sultans' 
little  boys.  I  longed  to  be  among  my  equals  in 
the  urchin  line,  and  fly  my  kite  with  only  high- 
born youngsters. 

Thus  I  lived  in  a  constant  scene  of  self-enchant- 


THE  PET  TIB  ONE  LINEAGE.  153 

ment  on  the  part  of  the  sisters,  who  assumed  all 
the  port  and  feeling  that  properly  belong  to  ladies 
of  quality.  Patrimonial  splendor  to  come  danced 
before  their  dim  eyes ;  and  handsome  settlements, 
gay  equipages,  and  a  general  grandeur  of  some 
sort  loomed  up  in  the  future  for  the  American 
branch  of  the  House  of  Pettibone. 

It  was  a  life  of  opulent  self-delusion,  which  my 
aunts  were  never  tired  of  nursing ;  and  I  was  too 
young  to  doubt  the  reality  of  it.  All  the  mem- 
bers of  our  little  household  held  up  their  heads,  as 
if  each  said,  in  so  many  words,  "  There  is  no  origi- 
nal sin  in  our  composition,  whatever  of  that  com- 
modity there  may  be  mixed  up  with  the  common 
clay  of  Snowborough." 

Aunt  Patience  was  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart. 
Aunt  Eunice  looked  at  her  through  a  determined 
pair  of  spectacles,  and  worshipped  while  she  gazed. 
The  youngest  sister  lived  in  a  dreamy  state  of 
honors  to  come,  and  had  constant  zoological  vis- 
ions of  lions,  griffins,  and  unicorns,  drawn  and 
quartered  in  every  possible  style  known  to  the 
Heralds'  College.  The  Reverend  Hebrew  Bullet, 


154  THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE. 

who  used  to  drop  in  quite  often  and  drink  several 
compulsory  glasses  of  home-made  wine,  encour- 
aged his  three  parishioners  in  their  aristocratic 
notions,  and  extolled  them  for  what  he  called  their 
"stooping  down  to  every-day  life."  He  differed 
with  the  ladies  of  our  house  only  on  one  point. 
He  contended  that  the  unicorn  of  the  Bible  and 
the  rhinoceros  of  to-day  were  one  and  the  same 
animal.  My  aunts  held  a  different  opinion. 

In  the  sleeping-room  of  my  Aunt  Patience  re- 
posed a  trunk.  Often  during  my  childish  years  I 
longed  to  lift  the  lid,  and  spy  among  its  contents 
the  treasures  my  young  fancy  conjured  up  as  lying 
there  in  state.  I  dared  not  ask  to  have  the  cover 
raised  for  my  gratification,  as  I  had  often  been  told 
I  was  "  too  little "  to  estimate  aright  what  that 
armorial  box  contained.  "When  you  grow  up, 
you  shall  see  the  inside  of  it,"  Aunt  Mary  Ann 
used  to  say  to  me  ;  and  so  I  wondered  and  wished, 
but  all  in  vain.  I  must  have  the  virtue  of  years, 
before  I  could  view  the  treasures  of  past  magnifi- 
cence, so  long  entombed  in  that  wooden  sarcopha- 


THE  PET  TIB  ONE  LINEAGE.  155 

gus.  Once  I  saw  the  faded  sisters  bending  over 
the  trunk  together,  and,  as  I  thought,  embalming 
something  in  camphor.  Curiosity  impelled  me  to 
linger,  but,  under  some  pretext,  I  was  nodded  out 
of  the  room. 

Although  my  kinswomen's  means  were  far  from 
ample,  they  determined  that  Swiftmouth  College 
should  have  the  distinction  of  calling  me  one  of 
her  sons,  and  accordingly  I  was  in  due  time  sent 
for  preparation  to  a  neighboring  academy.  Years 
of  study  and  hard  fare  in  country  boarding-houses 
told  upon  my  self-importance  as  the  descendant  of 
a  great  Englishman,  notwithstanding  all  my  let- 
ters from  the  honored  three  came  freighted  with 
counsel  to  "  respect  myself,  and  keep  up  the  dig- 
nity of  the  family."  Growing-up  man  forgets 
good  counsel.  The  Arcadia  of  respectability  is 
apt  to  give  place  to  the  levity  of  football,  and 
other  low-toned  accomplishments.  The  book  of 
life,  at  that  period,  opens  readily  at  fun  and  frolic, 
and  the  insignia  of  greatness  give  the  school-boy 
no  envious  pangs. 

I  was  nineteen  when  I  entered  the  hoary  halls 


156  THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE. 

of  Swiftmouth.  I  call  them  hoary,  because  they 
had  been  built  more  than  fifty  years.  To  me 
they  seemed  uncommonly  hoary,  and  I  snuffed 
antiquity  in  the  dusty  purlieus.  I  now  began  to 
study  in  good  earnest  the  wisdom  of  the  past.  I 
saw  clearly  the  value  of  dead  men  and  mouldy 
precepts,  especially  if  the  former  had  been  en- 
tombed a  thousand  years,  and  if  the  latter  were 
well  done  in  sounding  Greek  and  Latin.  I  began 
to  reverence  royal  lines  of  deceased  monarch  s,  and 
longed  to  connect  my  own  name,  now  growing  into 
college  popularity,  with  some  far-off  mighty  one 
who  had  ruled  in  pomp  and  luxury  his  obsequious 
people.  The  trunk  in  Snowborough  troubled  my 
dreams.  In  that  receptacle  still  slept  the  proof 
of  our  family  distinction.  "  I  will  go,"  said  I,  "  to 
the  home  of  my  aunts  the  next  vacation,  and  there 
learn  how  we  became  mighty,  and  discover  pre- 
cisely why  we  don't  practise  to-day  our  inherited 
claims  to  glory." 

I  went  to  Snowborough.  Aunt  Patience  was 
now  anxious  to  lay  before  her  eager  nephew  the 
proof  he  burned  to  behold.  But  first  she  must 


THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE.  157 

explain.  All  the  old  family  documents  and  let- 
ters were,  no  doubt,  destroyed  in  the  great  fire 
of  '98,  as  nothing  in  the  shape  of  parchment  or 
paper  implying  nobility  had  ever  been  discovered 
in  Snowborough,  or  elsewhere.  -  But  —  there  had 
been  preserved,  for  many  years,  a  suit  of  imperial 
clothes,  that  had  been  worn  by  their  great-grand- 
father in  England,  and,  no  doubt,  in  the  New 
World  also.  These  garments  had  been  carefully 
watched  and  guarded ;  for  were  they  not  the 
proof  that  their  owner  belonged  to  a  station  in 
life,  second,  if  second  at  all,  to  the  royal  court  of 
King  George  himself]  Precious  casket,  into  which  I 
was  soon  to  have  the  privilege  of  gazing  !  Through 
how  many  long  years  these  fond,  foolish  virgins 
had  lighted  their  unflickering  lamps  of  expectation 
and  hope  at  this  cherished  shrine  ! 

I  was  now  on  my  way  to  the  family  repository 
of  all  our  greatness.  I  went  up  stairs  "on  the 
jump."  We  all  knelt  down  before  the  well-pre- 
served box ;  and  my  proud  Aunt  Patience,  in  a 
somewhat  reverent  manner,  turned  the  key.  My 
heart,  —  I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess  it  now, 


158  THE  PETTI  BONE  LINEAGE. 

although  it  is  several  years  since  the  partie  carree, 
in  search  of  family  honors,  were  on  their  knees  that 
summer  afternoon  in  Snowborough,  —  my  heart 
beat  high.  I  was  about  to  look  on  that  which 
might  be  a  duke's  or  an  earl's  regalia.  And  I  was 
descended  from  the  owner  in  a  direct  line  !  I  had 
lately  been  reading  Shakespeare's  "  Titus  Androni- 
cus " ;  and  I  remembered,  there  before  the  trunk, 
the  lines,  — 

"  0  sacred  receptacle  of  my  joys, 
Sweet  cell  of  virtue  and  nobility  !  " 

The  lid  went  up,  and  the  sisters  began  to  unroll 
the  precious  garments,  which  seemed  all  enshrined 
in  aromatic  gums  and  spices.  The  odor  of  that 
interior  lives  with  me  to  this  day  j  and  I  grow 
faint  with  the  memory  of  that  hour.  With  pious 
precision  the  clothes  were  uncovered,  and  at  last 
the  whole  suit  was  laid  before  my  expectant 
eyes. 

Whatever  dreadful  shock  may  be  in  reserve  for 
my  declining  years,  I  am  certain  I  can  bear  it ; 
for  I  went  through  that  scene  at  Snowborough, 
and  still  live  ! 


THE  PET  TIE  ONE  LINEAGE.  159 

When  the  garments  were  fully  displayed,  all  the 
aunts  looked  at  me.  I  had  been  to  college ;  I  had 
studied  Burke's  "  Peerage " ;  I  had  been  once  to 
New  York.  Perhaps  I  could  immediately  name 
the  exact  station  in  noble  British  life  to  which 
that  suit  of  clothes  belonged.  I  could  ;  I  saw  it 
all  at  a  glance.  I  grew  flustered  and  pale.  I 
dared  not  look  my  poor  deluded  female  relatives 
in  the  face. 

"  What  rank  in  the  peerage  do  these  gold-laced 
garments  and  big  buttons  betoken  1 "  cried  all 
three. 

"  It  is  a  suit  of  servant's  livery!"  gasped  I,  and 
fell  back  with  a  shudder. 

That  evening,  after  the  sun  had  gone  down,  we 
buried  those  hateful  garments  in  a  ditch  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden.  Rest  there,  perturbed 
body-coat,  yellow  breeches,  brown  gaiters,  and 
all! 

"  Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye!  " 


GETTING  HOME   AGAIN. 


GETTING  HOME  AGAIN. 

A  REVERIE. 


T  is  a  good  thing,  said  an  aged  Chinese 
Travelling  Philosopher,  for  every  man, 
sooner  or  later,  to  get  back  again  to  his 
own  teacup.  And  Oo  Long  was  right.  Travel 
may  be  "  the  conversion  of  money  into  mind,"- 
and  happy  the  man  who  has  turned  much  coin 
into  that  precious  commodity,  —  but  it  is  a  good 
thing,  after  being  tossed  about  the  world  from  the 
Battery  to  Africa,  —  that  dry-nurse  of  lions,  as 
Horace  calls  her,  — to  anchor  once  more  beside  the 
old  familiar  tea-urn  on  the  old  familiar  tea  table. 
This  is  the  only  "  steamy  column  "  worth  hailing 
with  a  glad  welcome  after  long  absence  from  home, 


164  GETTING  HOME  AGAIN. 

and  fully  entitled  to  be  heartily  applauded  for  its 
"loud-hissing"  propensities. 

I  am  not  a  Marco  Polo  or  a  William  de  Ru- 
bruqnis,  and  I  have  no  wonders  to  tell  of  the 
Great  Mogul  or  the  Great  Cham.  I  did  not  sail 
for  Messrs.  Pride,  Pomp,  Circumstance,  and  Com- 
pany ;  consequently,  I  have  no  great  exploits  to 
recount.  I  have  been  wrecked  at  sea  only  once 
in  my  many  voyages,  and,  so  far  as  I  know  my 
tastes,  do  not  care  to  solicit  aid  again  to  be  thrown 
into  the  same  awkward  situation.  But  for  a  time 
I  have  been 

"  Placed  far  amid  the  melancholy  main," 
and  now  I  am  among  my  own  teacups.  This  is 
happiness  enough  for  a  cold  winter's  night.  Mid- 
ocean,  and  mid  teacups !  Stupendous  change, 
let  me  tell  you,  worthy  friend,  who  never  yet  set 
sail  where  sharks  and  other  strange  sea-cattle  bob 
their  noses  above  the  brine,  —  who  never  lived 
forty  days  in  the  bowels  of  a  ship,  unable  to  hold 
your  head  up  to  the  captain's  bluff  "  good-morn- 
ing "  or  the  steward's  cheery  "  good-night."  Sir 
Philip  Sidney  discourses  of  a  riding-master  he 


GETTING  HOME  AGAIN.  165 

encountered  in  Vienna,  who  spoke  so  eloquently 
of  the  noble  animal  he  had  to  deal  with,  that  he 
almost  persuaded  Sir  Philip  to  wish  himself  a 
horse.  I  have  known  ancient  mariners  expa- 
tiate so  lovingly  on  the  frantic  enjoyments  of  the 
deep  sea,  that  very  youthful  listeners  have  for  the 
time  resolved  to  know  no  other  existence.  If  the 
author  of  the  "Arcadia"  had  been  permitted  to 
become  a  prancing  steed,  he  might,  after  the  first 
exhilarating  canter,  have  lamented  his  equine 
state.  How  many  a  first  voyage,  begun  in  hilarious 
impatience,  has  caused  a  bitter  repentance  !  The 
sea  is  an  overrated  element,  and  I  have  nothing  to 
say  in  its  favor.  Because  I  am  out  of  its  uneasy 
lap  to-night,  I  almost  resemble  in  felicity  Rich- 
ter's  Walt,  who  felt  himself  so  happy,  that  he 
was  transported  to  the  third  heaven,  and  held 
the  other  two  in  his  hand  that  he  might  give  them 
away.  To-morrow  morning  I  shall  not  hear  that 
swashing,  scaring  sound  directly  overhead  on  the 
wet  deck,  which  has  so  often  murdered  slumber. 
Delectable  sensation  that  I  do  not  care  a  rope's- 
end  "  how  many  knots "  I  am  going,  and  that 


1GG  GETTING   HOME  AGAIN. 

my  ears  are  so  far  away  from  that  eternal  "  Ay, 
ay,  sir ! "  "  The  whales,"  says  old  Chapman, 
speaking  of  Neptune,  "exulted  under  him,  and 
knew  their  mighty  king."  Let  them  exult,  say 
I,  and  be  blowed,  and  all  due  honor  to  their  salt 
sovereign  !  but  of  their  personal  acquaintance  I 
am  not  ambitious.  I  have  met  them  now  and 
then  in  the  sixty  thousand  miles  of  their  watery 
playing-places  I  have  passed  over,  and  they  are  not 
pretty  to  look  at.  Roll  on,  —  and  so  will  I,  for  the 
present,  at  least,  as  far  out  of  your  reach  as  possible. 

Yes,  wise  denizen  of  the  Celestial  Empire,  it  is  a 
good,  nay,  a  great  thing,  to  return  even  to  so  small 
a  home-object  as  an  old  teacup.  As  I  lift  the 
bright  brim  to  my  lips,  I  repeat  it.  As  I  pour  out 
my  second,  my  third,  and  my  fourth,  I  say  it 
again.  Oo  Long  was  right  ! 

And  now,  as  the  rest  of  the  household  have  all 
gone  up  bed-ward,  and  left  mo  with  their  good- 
night tones, 

"  Like  flowers'  voices,  if  they  could  but  speak," 
I  dip  my  pen  into  the  cocked  hat  of  the  brave  little 


GETTING   HOME  AGAIN.  167 

bronze  warrior  who  has  fed  us  all  so  many  years 
with  ink  from  the  place  where  his  brains  ought  to 
be.  Pausing  before  I  proceed  to  paper,  I  look 
around  on  our  household  guds.  The  coal  bursts 
into  crackling  fits  of  merriment,  as  I  thrust  the 
poker  between  the  iron  ribs  of  the  grate.  It 
seems  to  say,  in  the  most  persuasive  audible 
manner  of  which  it  is  capable,  "  0,  go  no  more 
a-roaming,  a- roam  ing,  across  the  windy  sea ! " 
How  odd  it  seems  to  be  sitting  here  again,  listen- 
ing to  the  old  clock  out  there  in  the  entry  !  Often 
I  seemed  to  hear  it  during  the  months  that  have 
flown  away,  when  I  knew  that  "  our  ancient " 
was  standing  sentinel  for  Time  in  another  hem- 
isphere. One  night,  dark  and  stormy  on  the 
Mediterranean,  as  I  lay  wakeful  and  watchful  in 
the  little  steamer  that  was  bearing  us  painfully  on 
through  the  noisy  tempest  towards  St.  Peter's 
and  the  Colosseum,  suddenly,  above  the  tumult 
of  the  voyage,  this  household  monitor  began 
audibly  and  regularly,  I  thought,  to  mark  the 
seconds.  Then  it  must  have  been  only  fancy. 
Kow  it  is  something  more,  and  I  know  that  our 


1G8  GETTING  110. ME  AGAIN. 

mahogany  friend  is  really  wagging  his  brassy 
beard  just  outside  the  door.  I  remember  now,  as 
I  lay  listening  that  rough  night  at  sea,  how  Mil- 
ton's magic-sounding  line  came  to  me  beating  a  sad 
melody  with  the  old  clock's  imagined  tramp,  — 

"The  Lars  and  Lemures  moan  with  midnight  plaint." 

Let  the  waves  bark  to-night  far  out  on  "the  deso- 
late, rainy  seas,"  —  the  old  clock  is  all  right  in 
our  entry  ! 

Landed,  and  all  safe  at  last !  my  much-abused, 
lock-broken,  unhinged  portmanteau  unpacked  and 
laid  ignobly  to  rest  under  the  household  eaves  ! 
Stay  a  moment,  —  let  me  pitch  this  inky  passport 
into  the  fire.  How  it  writhes  and  grows  black  in 
the  face !  And  now  it  will  trouble  its  owner  no 
more  forever.  It  was  a  foolish,  extravagant  com- 
panion, and  I  am  glad  to  be  rid  of  it.  One  little 
blazing  fragment  lifts  itself  out  of  the  flame,  and 
I  can  trace  on  the  smouldering  relic  the  stamp 
of  Austria.  Go  back  again  into  the  grate,  and 
perish  with  the  rest,  dark  blot  ! 

I  look  around  this  quiet  apartment,  and  won- 


GETTING  HOME  AGAIN.  169 

der  if  it  be  all  true,  this  getting  home  again.  I 
stir  the  fire  once  more  to  assure  myself  that  I 
am  not  somewhere  else,  —  that  the  street  outside 
my  window  is  not  known  as  Jermyn  Street 
in  the  Haymarket,  or  the  Via  Babuino  near  the 
Pincio,  or  Princes  Street,  near  the  Monument. 
How  can  I  determine  that  I  am  not  dreaming, 
and  that  I  shall  not  wake  up  to-morrow  morn- 
ing and  find  myself  on  the  Arno  1  Perhaps  I  am 
not  really  back  again  where  there  are  no 

"  Eremites  and  friars, 
White,  black,  and  gray,  with  all  their  trumpery." 

Perhaps  I  am  a  flamingo,  a  banyan-tree,  or  a  man- 
darin. But  therq  stands  the  teacup,  and  identity 
is  sure  ! 

Here  at  last,  then,  for  a  live  certainty  !  But 
how  strange  it  all  seems,  resting  safely  in  easy 
slippers,  to  recall  some  of  the  far-off  scenes  so 
lately  present  to  me  !  Yesterday  was  it,  or  a  few 
weeks  ago,  that  this  "  excellent  canopy,"  this  mod- 
est roof,  dwelt  three  thousand  miles  away  to  the 
westward  of  me  ?  At  this  moment  stowed  away  in 
a  snuggery  called  my  own  ;  and  then  —  how  brief 


170  GETTING  HOME  AGAIN. 

a  period  it  seems  !  what  a  small  parenthesis  in 
time!  —  putting  another  man's  latch-key  into  an- 
other man's  door,  night  after  night,  in  a  London 
fog,  and  feeling  for  the  unfamiliar  aperture  with 
all  the  sensation  of  an  innocent  housebreaker  ! 
Muffled  here  in  the  oldest  of  dressing-gowns,  that 
never  lifted  its  arms  ten  rods  from  the  spot  where 
it  was  born ;  and  only  a  few  weeks  ago  lolling  out 
of  CL  R's  college-window  at  Oxford,  counting  the 
deer,  as  they  nibbled  the  grass,  and  grouped  them- 
selves into  beautiful  pictures  on  the  sward  of  an- 
cient Magdalen  ! 

As  I  look  into  the  red  fire  in  the  grate,  I 
think  of  the  scarlet  coats  flashing  not  long  ago  in 
Stratford,  when  E.  F.,  kindest  of  men  and  mer- 
riest of  hosts  took  us  all  to  the  "  meet."  I  gaze 
round  the  field  again,  and  enjoy  the  enlivening 
scene.  \Vhite-h aired  and  tall,  our  kind-hearted 
friend  walks  his  glossy  mare  up  and  down  the 
turf.  His  stalwart  sons,  with  sport  irnbrowned, 
proud  of  their  sire,  call  attention  to  the  spar- 
kle in  the  old  man's  eye.  I  am  mounted  on  a 
fiery  little  animal,  and  am  half-frightened  at  the 


GETTING  HOME  AGAIN.  171 

thought  of  what  she  may  do  with  me  when  the 
chase  is  high.  Confident  that  a  roll  is  inevi- 
table, and  that,  with  a  dislocated  neck,  enjoyment 
would  be  out  of  the  question,  I  pull  bridle,  and 
carefully  dismount,  hoping  not  to  attract  atten- 
tion. Whereat  all  my  English  cousins  beg  to 
inquire,  "  What  's  the  row  1 "  I  whisper  to  the 
red-coated  brave  prancing  near  me,  that  "  I  have 
changed  my  mind,  and  will  not  follow  the  hunt 
to-day,  —  another  time  I  shall  be  most  happy, 
—  just  now  I  am  not  quite  up  to  the  mark,  — 
next  week  I  shall  be  all  right  again,"  etc.  One 
of  the  lithe  hounds,  who  seems  to  have  steel 
springs  in  his  hind  legs,  looks  contemptuously  at 
the  American  stranger,  and  turns  up  his  long  nose 
like  a  moral  insinuation.  Off  they  fly !  I  watch 
the  beautiful  cavalcade  bound  over  the  brook,  and 
sweep  away  into  the  woodland  passes.  Then  I 
saunter  down  by  the  Avon,  and  dream  away  the 
daylight  in  endless  visions  of  long  ago,  when  sweet 
Will  and  his  merry  comrades  moved  about  these 
pleasant  haunts.  Returning  to  the  hall,  I  find 
I  have  walked  ten  miles  over  the  breezy  country, 


172  GETTING  noirr,  AGAIX. 

and  knew  it  not,  —  so  pleasant  is  the  fragrant 
turf  that  has  been  often  pressed  by  the  feet  of 
Nature's  best-beloved  child.  Round  the  mahog- 
any tree  that  night  I  hearken  as  the  hunters  tell 
the  glories  of  their  sport,  —  how  their  horses,  like 
Homer's  steeds, 

"  Devoured  up  the  plain  "  ; 

and  I  can  hear  now,  in  imagination,  the  voices 
of  the  deep-mouthed  hounds  rising  and  swelling 
among  the  Warwick  glens. 

Neither  can  I  forget,  as  I  sit  musing  here, 
whose  green  English  carpet,  down  in  Kent,  I  so 
lately  rested  on  under  the  trees,  —  nor  how  I 
•wandered  off  with  the  lord  of  that  hospitable 
manor  to  an  old  castle  hard  by  his  grounds,  and 
climbed  with  him  to  the  turret-tops,  —  nor  how 
I  heard  him  repeople  in  fancy  the  aged  ruin,  as 
we  leaned  over  the  wall  together  and  looked  into 
the  desolate  courtyard  below. 

Let  me  bear  in  mind,  too,  how  happily  the  hours 
went  by  me  so  recently  in  the  vine-embowered 
cottage  of  dear  L.  H.,  the  beautiful  old  man  with 
silver  hair, — 


GETTING  HOME  AGAIN.  173 

"As  hoary  frost  with  spangles  doth  attire 
The  mossy  branches  of  an  oak." 

The  sound  of  the  poet's  voice  was  like  the  musical 
fall  of  water  in  my  ears,  and  every  sentence  he 
uttered  then  is  still  a  melody.  As  I  sit  dreamily 
here,  he  speaks  again  of  "  life's  morning  march, 
when  his  bosom  was  young,"  and  of  his  later 
years,  when  his  struggles  were  many  and  keen, 
and  only  his  pen  was  the  lever  which  rolled 
poverty  away  from  his  door.  I  can  hear  him,  as 
I  pause  over  this  leaf,  as  I  listened  to  the  old 
clock  that  night  at  sea.  He  tells  me  of  his  cher- 
ished companions,  now  all  gone,  —  of  Shelley,  and 
Keats,  and  Charles  Lamb,  whom  he  loved,  —  of 
Byron,  and  Coleridge,  and  the  rest.  As  I  sit  at 
his  little  table,  he  hands  me  a  manuscript,  and 
says  it  is  the  "  Endymion,"  John  Keats's  gift  to 
himself.  He  reads  from  it  some  of  his  favorite 
lines,  and  the  tones  of  his  voice  are  very  tender 
over  his  dead  friend's  poem.  As  I  pass  out  of 
his  door  that  evening,  the  moon  falls  on  his  white 
locks,  his  thin  hand  rests  for  a  moment  on  my 
shoulder,  and  I  hear  him  say  very  kindly,  "God 


174  GETTING  HOME  AGAIN. 

bless  you ! "  And  when,  a  few  months  later,  I 
am  among  the  Alpine  hills,  and  word  comes  to  me 
that  L.  H.  is  laid  to  rest  in  Kensal  Green  Church- 
yard, I  am  grateful  to  have  looked  upon  his 
cheerful  countenance,  and  to  have  heard  him  say 
those  sacred  last  words. 

Gayest  of  cities,  bright  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and 
splendid  cafes !  I  do  not '  much  affect  your 
shows,  but  cannot  dismiss  forever  the  cheerful 
little  room,  cloud-environed  almost,  up  to  which 
I  have  so  often  toiled,  after  days  of  hard  walking 
among  the  gaudy  streets  of  the  French  capital. 
One  pleasant  scene,  at  least,  rises  unbidden,  as 
I  recall  the  past.  It  is  a  brisk,  healthy  morn- 
ing, and  I  walk  in  the  direction  of  the  Tuile- 
ries.  Bending  my  steps  toward  the  palace  (it  is 
yet  early,  and  few  loiterers  are  abroad  in  the 
leafy  avenues),  I  observe  a  group  of  three  per- 
sons, not  at  all  distinguished  in  their  appear- 
ance, having  a  roistering  good  time  in  the  Im- 
perial Garden.  One  of  them  is  a  little  boy,  with 
a  chubby,  laughing  face,  who  shouts  loudly  to 
his  father,  a  grave,  thoughtful  gentleman,  who 


GETTING  HOME  AGAIN.  175 

runs  backwards,  endeavoring  to  out-race  his  child. 
The  mother,  a  fair-haired  woman,  with  her  bonnet 
half  loose  in  the  wind,  strives  to  attract  the  boy's 
attention  and  win  him  to  her  side.  They  all  run 
and  leap  in  the  merry  morning  air,  and,  as  I 
watch  them  more  nearly,  I  know  them  to  be 
the  royal  family  out  larking  before  Paris  is  astir. 
They  have  hung  up  a  picture  in  my  gallery  of 
memory,  very  pleasant  to  look  at,  this  cold  night 
in  America.  Alas  !  they  were  not  always  so  happy 
as  when  they  romped  together  in  the  garden ! 

The  days  that  are  fled  still  knock  at  the  door 
and  enter.  I  am  walking  on  the  banks  of  the 
Esk,  toward  a  friendly  dwelling  in  Lasswade, — 
Mavis  Bush  they  call  the  pretty  place  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill.  A  slight  figure,  clad  in  black,  waits 
for  me  at  the  garden-gate,  and  bids  me  welcome 
in  accents  so  kindly,  that  I,  too,  feel  the  magic 
influence  of  his  low,  sweet  voice,  —  an  effect 
which  Wordsworth  described  to  me,  years  before, 
as  eloquence  set  to  music.  The  face  of  my  host 
is  very  pale,  and,  when  he  puts  his  thin  arm 
within  mine,  I  feel  how  frail  a  body  may  con- 


176    '  GETTING  HOME  AGAIN. 

tain  a  spirit  of  fire.  I  go  into  his  modest  abode 
and  listen  to  his  wonderful  talk,  wishing  all 
the  while  that  the  hours  were  months,  that  I 
might  linger  there,  spellbound,  day  and  night, 
before  the  master.  He  proposes  a  ramble  across 
the  meadows  to  Roslin  Chapel,  and  on  the  way 
he  discourses  of  the  fascinating  drug  so  painfully 
associated  with  his  name  in  literature,  —  of 
Christopher  North,  in  whose  companionship  he 
delighted  among  the  Lakes,  —  of  Elia,  whom  he 
recalled  as  the  most  lovable  man  among  his 
friends,  and  whom  he  has  well  described  else- 
where as  a  Diogenes  with  the  heart  of  a  Saint 
John.  In  the  dark  evening  he  insists  upon  set- 
ting out  with  me  on  my  return  to  Edinburgh. 
When  it  grows  late,  and  the  mists  are  heavy  on 
the  mountains,  we  stand  together,  clasping  hands 
of  farewell  in  the  dim  road,  the  cold  Scotch  hills 
looming  up  all  about  us.  As  the  small  figure 
of  the  English  Opium-Eater  glides  away  into  the 
midnight  distance,  my  eyes  strain  after  him  to 
catch  one  more  glimpse.  The  Esk  roars,  and 
I  hear  his  footsteps  no  longer. 


GETTING  HOME  AGAIN.  177 

The  scene  changes,  as  the  clock  strikes  in  the 
entry.  I  am  lingering  in  the  piazza  of  the 
Winged  Lion,  and  the  bronze  giants  in  their 
.turret  overlooking  the  square  raise  their  ham- 
mers and  beat  the  solemn  march  of  Time.  As 
I  float  away  through  the  watery  streets,  old  Shy- 
lock  shuffles  across  the  bridge,  black  barges 
glide  by  me  in  the  silent  canals,  groups  of  un- 
familiar faces  lean  from  the  balconies,  and  I 
hear  the  plashing  waters  lap  the  crumbling  walls 
of  Venice,  with  its  dead  doges  and  decaying 
palaces. 

Again  I  stir  the  fire,  and  feel  it  is  home  all 
about  me.  But  I  like  to  sit  longer  and  think 
of  that  rosy  evening  last  summer,  when,  walking 
into  Interlachen,  I  beheld  the  ghost-like  figure  of 
the  Jungfrau  issuing  out  of  her  cloudy  palace  to 
welcome  the  stars,  —  of  a  cool,  bright,  autumnal 
morning  on  the  western  battlements  overlooking 
Genoa,  the  blue  Mediterranean  below  mirroring 
the  silent  fleet  that  lay  so  motionless  on  its 
bosom,  —  of  a  midnight  visit  to  the  Colosseum 
with  a  band  of  German  students,  who  bore  torches 


178  GETTING   HOME  AGAIN. 

ill  and  out  of  the  time-worn  arches,  and  sang 
their  echoing  songs  to  the  full  moon, — of  days, 
how  many  and  how  magical  !  when  I  awoke  every 
morning  to  say,  "  We  are  in  Rome  !  " 

But  it  grows  late,  and  it  is  time  now  to  give 
over  these  reflections.  Let  me  wind  up  my 
watch,  and  put  out  the  candle. 


HOW  TO  KOUGH  IT, 


HOW  TO  ROUGH  IT. 


IFE  has  few  things  better  than  this," 
said  Dr.  Johnson,  on  feeling  himself 
settled  in  a  coach,  and  rolling  along  the 
road.  I  cannot  agree  with  the  great  man.  Times" 
have  changed  since  the  Doctor  and  Mr.  Boswell 
travelled  for  pleasure ;  and  I  much  prefer  an  ex- 
pedition to  Moosehead,  or  a  tramp  in  the  Adiron- 
dack, to  being  boxed  up  in  a  four-wheeled  ark 
and  made  "  comfortable,"  according  to  the  Doc- 
tor's idea  of  felicity. 

Francis  Galton,  Explorer,  and  Secretary  to  the 
Royal  Geographical  Society,  has  lately  done  the 
world  a  benefit  by  teaching  its  children  how  to 
travel.  Few  persons  know  the  important  secrets 


HOW  TO  ROUGH  IT. 


of  how  to  walk,  how  to  run,  how  to  ride,  how 
to  cook,  how  to  defend,  how  to  ford  rivers,  how  to 
make  rafts,  how  to  fish,  how  to  hunt,  in  short, 
how  to  do  the  essential  things  that  every  travel- 
ler, soldier,  sportsman,  emigrant,  and  missionary 
should  be  conversant  with.  The  world  is  full  of 
deserts,  prairies,  bushes,  jungles,  swamps,  rivers, 
and  oceans.  How  to  "  get  round "  the  dangers 
of  the  land  and  the  sea  in  the  best  possible  way, 
how  to  shift  and  contrive  so  as  to  come  out 
safely,  are  secrets  well  worth  knowing,  and  Mr. 
Galton  has  found  the  key.  In  this  brief  paper 
I  shall  frequently  avail  myself  of  the  informa- 
tion he  imparts,  confident  that  in  these  days 
his  wise  directions  are  better  than  fine  gold  to  a 
man  who  is  obliged  to  rough  it  over  the  world,  no 
matter  where  his  feet  may  wander,  his  horse  may 
travel,  or  his  boat  may  sail. 

Wherewithal  shall  a  man  be  clothed  1  Let  us 
begin  at  the  beginning  with  flannel  always.  Ex- 
perience has  settled  that  flannel  next  the  skin  is 
indispensable  for  health  to  a  traveller,  and  the 
sick  and  dead  lists  always  include  largely  the 


HOW  TO  ROUGH  IT.  183 

names  of  those  who  neglect  this  material.  Cotton 
stands  Number  Two  on  the  list,  and  linen  nowhere. 
Only  last  summer  careless  Tom  Bowers  achieved 
his  quietus  for  the  season  by  getting  hot  and 
wet  and  cold  in  one  of  his  splendid  Paris  linen 
shirts,  and  now  he  wears  calico  ones  whenever  he 
wishes  to  "appear  proper"  at  Nahant  or  Newport. 

"The  hotter  the  ground  the  thicker  your  socks," 
was  the  advice  of  an  old  traveller  who  once  went 
a  thirty-days'  tramp  at  my  side  through  the  Alp 
country  in  summer.  I  have  seen  many  a  city 
bumpkin  start  for  a  White  Mountain  walk  in  the 
thinnest  of  cotton  foot-coverings,  but  I.  never 
knew  one  to  try  them  a  second  time. 

Stout  shoes  are  preferable  to  boots  always,  and 
a  wise  traveller  never  omits  to  grease  well  his 
leather  before  and  during  his  journey.  Do  not  for- 
get to  put  a  pair  of  old  slippers  into  your  knap- 
sack. After  a  hard  day's  toil,  they  are  like  magic, 
under  foot.  Let  me  remind  the  traveller  whose 
feet  are  tender  at  starting  that  a  capital  remedy 
for  blistered  feet  is  to  rub  them  at  night  with 
spirits  mixed  with  tallow  dropped  from  a  candle. 


184  HOW  TO  ROUGH  IT. 

An  old  friend  of  mine  thought  it  a  good  plan  to 
soap  the  inside  of  the  stocking  before  setting  out, 
and  I  have  seen  him  break  a  raw  egg  into  his 
shoes  before  putting  them  on,  saying  it  softened 
the  leather  and  made  him  "  perfect "  for  the  day. 

Touching  coat,  waistcoat,  and  trousers,  there 
can  be  but  one  choice.  Coarse  tweed  does  the  best 
business  on  a  small  capital.  Cheap  and  strong, 
I  have  always  found  it  the  most  "paying"  arti- 
cle in  my  travelling- ward  robe.  Avoid  that  tailor- 
hem  so  common  at  the  bottom  of  your  pantaloons 
which  retains  water  and  does  no  good  to  anybody. 
Waistcoats  would  be  counted  as  superfluous,  were 
it  not  for  the  convenience  of  the  pockets  they 
carry.  Take  along  an  old  dressing-gown,  if  you 
want  solid  comfort  in  camp  or  elsewhere  after 
sunset. 

Gordon  dimming  recommends  a  wide-awake  hat, 
and  he  is  good  authority  on  that  head.  A  man 
"  clothed  in  his  right  mind  "  is  a  noble  object ;  but 
six  persons  out  of  every  ten  who  start  on  a  jour- 
ney wear  the  wrong  apparel.  The  writer  of  these 
pages  has  seen  four  individuals  at  once  standing 


HOW  TO  ROUGH  IT.  185 

up  to  their  middles  in  a  trout-stream,  all  adorned 
with  black  silk  tiles,  newly  imported  from  the  Rue 
St.  Honore.  It  was  a  sight  to  make  Daniel  Boone 
and  Izaak  Walton  smile  in  their  celestial  abodes. 

A  light  waterproof  outside-coat  and  a  thick 
pea-jacket  are  a  proper  span  for  a  roving  trip.  Do 
not  forget  that  a  couple  of  good  blankets  also  go 
a  long  way  toward  a  traveller's  paradise. 

I  will  not  presume  that  an  immortal  being  at 
this  stage  of  the  nineteenth  century  would  make 
the  mistake,  when  he  had  occasion  to  tuck  up  his 
shirt-sleeves,  of  turning  them  outwards,  so  that 
every  five  minutes  they  would  be  tumbling  down 
with  a  crash  of  anathemas  from  the  wearer.  The 
supposition  that  any  sane  son  of  Adam  would  tuck 
up  his  sleeves  inside  out  involves  a  suspicion,  to 
say  the  least,  that  his  wits  had  been  overrated  by 
a  doting  parent. 

"  Grease  and  dirt  are  the  savage's  wearing- 
apparel,"  says  the  Swedish  proverb.  No  comment 
is  necessary  in  speaking  with  a  Christian  on  this 
point,  for  cold  v,at2r  is  one  of  civilization's  closest 
allies.  Avoid  the  bath,  and  the  genius  of  disease 


186  HOir  TO  ROUGH  IT. 

and  crime  stalks  in.  "  Cleanliness  is  next  to  god- 
liness," remember. 

In  packing  your  knapsack,  keep  in  mind  that 
sixteen  or  twenty  pounds  are  weight  enough,  till, 
by  practice,  you  can  get  pluck  and  energy  into 
your  back  to  increase  that  amount. 

Roughing  it  has  various  meanings,  and  the 
phrase  is  oftentimes  ludicrously  mistaken  by  many 
individuals.  A  friend  with  whom  I  once  trav- 
elled thought  he  was  roughing  it  daily  for  the 
space  of  three  weeks,  because  he  was  obliged  to 
lunch  on  cold  chicken  and  un-iced  Champagne,  and 
when  it  rained  he  was  forced  to  seek  shelter  inside 
very  inelegant  hotels  on  the  road.  To  rough  it, 
in  the  best  sense  of  that  term,  is  to  lie  down  every 
night  with  the  ground  for  a  mattress,  a  bundle  of 
fagots  for  a  pillow,  and  the  stars  for  a  coverlet. 
To  sleep  in  a  tent  is  semi-luxury,  and  tainted  with 
too  much  effeminacy  to  suit  the  ardor  of  a  first- 
rate  "  Rough."  Parkyns,  Taylor,  Gumming,  Fre- 
mont, and  Kane  have  told  us  how  much  superior 
are  two  trunks  of  trees,  rolled  together  for  a  bed, 
under  the  open  sky,  to  that  soft,  heating  appara- 


HOW  TO  ROUGH  IT.  187 

tus  called  a  bed  in  the  best  chamber.  Every  man 
to  his  taste,  of  course,  but  there  come  occasions 
in  life  when  a  man  must  look  about  him  and 
arrange  for  himself,  somehow.  The  traveller  who 
has  never  slept  in  the  woods  has  missed  an  enjoy- 
able sensation.  A  clump  of  trees  makes  a  fine 
leafy  post-bedstead,  and  to  awake  in  the  morning 
amid  a  grove  of  sheltering,  nodding  oaks  is  lung- 
inspiring.  It  was  the  good  thought  of  a  wanderer 
to  say,  "The  forest  is  the  poor  man's  jacket." 
Napoleon  had  a  high  opinion  of  the  bivouac  style 
of  life,  and  on  the  score  of  health  gave  it  the 
preference  over  tent-sleeping.  Free  circulation  is 
a  great  blessing,  albeit  I  think  its  eulogy  rather 
strongly  expressed  by  the  Walden-Pondit,  when 
he  says,  "I  would  rather  sit  on  a  pumpkin  and 
have  it  all  to  myself,  than  be  crowded  on  a  velvet 
cushion.  I  would  rather  ride  on  earth  in  an  ox- 
cart with  a  free  circulation,  than  go  to  heaven  in 
the  fancy  car  of  an  excursion-train,  and  breathe  a 
malaria  all  the  way."  The  only  objection  to  out- 
door slumber  is  dampness  ;  but  it  is  easy  to  pro- 
tect one's  self  in  wet  weather  from  the  unhealthy 
ground  by  boughs  or  india-rubber  blankets. 


188  HOW  TO  ROUGH  IT. 

One  of  the  great  precautions  requisite  for  a 
tramp  is  to  provide  against  thirst.  Want  of  water 
overtakes  the  traveller  sometimes  in  the  most 
annoying  manner,  and  it  is  well  to  know  how  to 
fight  off  the  dry  fiend.  Sir  Jarnes  Alexander 
cautions  all  who  rough  it  to  drink  well  before 
starting  in  the  morning,  and  drink  nothing  all  day 
till  the  halt,  —  and  to  keep  the  lips  shut  as  much 
as  possible.  Another  good  authority  recommends 
a  pebble  or  leaf  to  be  held  in  the  mouth.  Habit, 
however,  does  much  in  this  case  as  in  every  other, 
and  I  have  known  a  man,  who  had  been  accus- 
tomed at  home  to  drink  four  tumblers  of  water  at 
every  meal,  by  force  of  will  bring  his  necessity 
down  to  a  pint  of  liquid  per  day  during  a  long 
tramp  through  the  forest.  One  of  the  many  ex- 
cellent things  which  Plutarch  tells  of  Socrates  is 
this  noteworthy  incident  of  his  power  of  absti- 
nence. He  says,  whenever  Socrates  returned  from 
any  exercise,  though  he  might  be  extremely  dry, 
he  refrained  nevertheless  from  drinking  till  he 
had  thrown  away  the  first  bucket  of  water  he  had 
drawn,  that  he  might  exercise  himself  to  patience, 


HOW  TO  ROUGH  IT.  189 

and  accustom  his  appetite  to  wait  the  leisure  of 
reason. 

From  water  to  fire  is  a  natural  transition.  How 
to  get  a  blaze  just  when  you  want  it  puzzles  the 
will  hugely  sometimes.  Every  traveller  should 
provide  himself  with  a  good  handy  steel,  proper 
flint,  and  unfailing  tinder,  because  lucifers  are 
liable  to  many  accidents.  Pliny  recommended 
the  wood  of  mulberry,  bay-laurel,  and  ivy,  as  good 
material  to  be  rubbed  together  in  order  to  procure 
a  fire ;  but  Pliny  is  behind  the  times,  and  must 
not  be  trusted  to  make  rules  for  "our  boys."  Of 
course  no  one  would  omit  to  take  lucifers  on  a 
tramp ;  but  steel,  flint,  and  tinder  are  three  warm 
friends  that  in  an  emergency  will  always  come 
up  to  the  strike. 

To  find  firewood  is  a  knack,  and  it  ought  to  be 
well  cultivated.  Do  not  despise  bits  of  dry  moss, 
fine  grass,  and  slips  of  bark,  if  you  come  across 
them.  Twenty  fires  are  failures  in  the  open  air 
for  one  that  succeeds,  unless  the  operator  knows 
his  business.  A  novice  will  use  matches,  wood, 
wind,  time,  and  violent  language  enough  to  burn 


190  HOW   TO  ROUGH  IT. 

down  a  city,  and  never  get  any  satisfaction  out 
of  all  the  expenditure ;  while  a  knowing  hand 
will,  out  of  the  stump  of  an  old,  half-rotten  tree, 
bring  you  such  magnificent,  permanent  heat,  that 
your  heart  and  your  teakettle  will  sing  together 
for  joy  over  it.  In  making  a  fire,  depend  upon  it, 
there  is  something  more  than  luck,  —  there  is 
always  talent  in  it.  I  once  saw  Charles  Lever 
(Harry  Lorrequer's  father)  build  up  a  towering 
blaze  in  a  woody  nook  out  of  just  nothing  but 
what  he  scraped  up  from  the  ground,  and  his  rare 
ability.  You  remember  Mr.  Opie  the  painter's 
answer  to  a  student  who  asked  him  what  he 
mixed  his  colors  with.  "  Brains,  sir,"  was  the 
artist's  prompt,  gruff,  and  right  reply.  It  takes 
brains  to  make  a  fire  in  a  rainy  night  out  in  the 
woods ;  but  it  can  be  done,  —  if  you  only  know 
how  to  begin.  I  have  seen  a  hearth  made  of 
logs  on  a  deep  snow  sending  out  a  cheerful  glow, 
while  the  rain  dripped  and  froze  all  about  the 
merry  party  assembled. 

A  traveller  ought  to  be  a  good  swimmer.    There 
are  plenty  of  watery  crossings  to  ba  got  over,  and 


HOW   TO  ROUGH  IT.  191 

often  there  are  no  means  at  hand  but  what  Na- 
ture has  provided  in  legs  and  arms.  But  one 
of  the  easiest  things  in  the  world  to  make  is  a 
raft.  Inflatable  india-rubber  boats  also  are  now 
used  in  every  climate,  and  a  full-sized  one  weighs 
only  forty  pounds.  General  Fremont  and  Dr. 
Livingstone  have  tested  their  excellent  qualities, 
and  commend  them  as  capable  of  standing  a 
wonderful  amount  of  wear  and  tear.  But  a  boat 
can  be  made  out  of  almost  anything,  if  one  have 
the  skill  to  put  it  together.  A  party  of  sailors 
whose  boat  had  been  stolen  put  out  to  sea  and 
were  eighteen  hours  afloat  in  a  crazy  craft  made 
out  of  a  large  basket  woven  with  boughs  such  as 
they  could  pick  up,  and  covered  with  their  canvas 
tent,  the  inside  being  plastered  with  clay  to  keep 
out  as  much  of  the  water  as  possible. 

In  fording  streams,  it  is  well,  if  the  water  be 
deep  and  swift,  to  carry  heavy  stones  in  the  hands, 
in  order  to  resist  being  borne  away  by  the  cur- 
rent. Fords  should  not  be  deeper  than  three  feet 
for  men,  or  four  feet  for  horses. 

Among  the  small  conveniences,   a  good  strong 


192  nOW  TO  ROUGH  IT. 

pocket-knife,  a  small  "  hard  chisel,"  and  a  file 
should  not  be  forgotten.  A  great  deal  of  real 
work  can  be  done  with  very  few  tools.  One  of 
Colt's  rifles  is  a  companion  which  should  be  spe- 
cially cared  for,  and  a  waterproof  cover  should 
always  be  taken  to  protect  the  lock  during  show- 
ers. There  is  one  rule  among  hunters  which 
ought  always  to  be  remembered,  namely,  "  Look 
at  the  gun,  but  never  let  the  gun  look  at  you, 
or  at  your  companions."  Travellers  are  always 
more  or  less  exposed  to  the  careless  handling  of 
firearms,  and  numerous  accidents  occur  by  carry- 
ing the  piece  with  the  cock  down  on  the  nip- 
ple. Three  fourths  of  all  the  gun  accidents  are 
owing  to  this  cause ;  for  a  blow  on  the  back  of 
the  cock  is  almost  sure  to  explode  the  cap,  while 
a  gun  at  half-cock  is  comparatively  safe. 

Do  not  carry  too  many  eatables  on  your  expedi- 
tions. Dr.  Kane  says  his  party  learned  to  modify 
and  reduce  their  travelling-gear,  and  found  that 
in  direct  proportion  to  its  simplicity  and  to  their 
apparent  privation  of  articles  of  supposed  necessity 
were  their  actual  comfort  and  practical  efficiency. 


HOW   TO  ROUGH  IT.  193 

Step  by  step,  so  long  as  their  Arctic  service  con- 
tinued, they  went  on  reducing  their  sledging- 
outfit,  until  at  last  they  came  to  the  Esquimaux 
ultimatum  of  simplicity,  —  raw  meat  and  a  far 
bag.  Salt  and  papper  are  needful  condiments. 
Nearly  all  the  rest  are  out  of  place  on  a  roughing 
expedition.  Among  the  most  portable  kinds  of 
solid  food  are  pemmican,  jerked  meat,  wheat  flour, 
barley,  peas,  cheese,  and  biscuit.  Salt  meat  is  a 
disappointing  dish,  and  apt  to  be  sadly  uncertain. 
Somebody  once  said  that  water  had  tasted  of  sin- 
ners ever  since  the  flood,  and  salted  meat  some- 
times has  a  taint  full  as  vivid.  Twenty-eight 
ounces  of  real  nutriment  per  diem  for  a  man  in 
rough  work  as  a  traveller  will  be  all  that  he 
requires;  if  he  perform  severe  tramping,  thirty 
ounces. 

The  French  say,  C'est  la  soupe  qui  fait  le  soldaf, 
and  I  have  always  found  on  a  tramping  expedi- 
tion nothing  so  life-restoring  after  fatigue  and 
hunger  as  the  portable  soup  now  so  easily  ob- 
tained at  places  where  prepared  food  is  put  up 
for  travellers'  uses.  Spirituous  liquors  are  no 


194  HOW   TO  ROUGH  IT. 

help  in  roughing  it.  On  the  contrary,  they  in- 
vite sunstroke  and  various  other  unpleasant  visit- 
ors incident  to  the  life  of  a  traveller.  Habitual 
brandy-drinkers  give  out  sooner  than  cold-water 
men,  and  I  have  seen  fainting  red  noses  by  the 
score  succumb  to  the  weather,  when  boys  addicted 
to  water  would  crow  like  chanticleer  through  a  long 
storm  of  sleet  and  snow  on  the  freezing  Alps. 

It  is  not  well  to  lose  your  way ;  but  in  case  this 
unpleasant  luck  befall  you,  set  systematically  to 
work  to  find  it.  Throw  terror  to  the  idiots  who 
always  flutter  and  flounder,  and  so  go  wrong 
inevitably.  Galton  the  Plucky  says,  —  and  he 
has  as  much  cool  wisdom  to  impart  as  a  traveller 
needs,  —  when  you  make  the  unlively  discovery 
that  you  are  lost,  ask  yourself  the  three  following 
questions  :  — 

1.  What  is  the  least  distance  that  I  can  with 
certainty  specify,  within  which  the  path,  the  river, 
the  seashore,  etc.,  that  I  wish  to  regain,  may  lie  1 

2.  What  is  the  direction,    in   a  vague,  general 
way,  in  which  the  path  or  river  runs,  or  the  sea- 
coast  tends ] 


HOW   TO  ROUGH  IT.  195 

3.  When  I  last  left  the  path,  etc.,  did  I  turn  to 
the  left  or  to  the  right  ? 

As  regards  the  first,  calculate  deliberately  how 
long  you  have  been  riding  or  walking,  and  at  what 
pace,  since  you  left  your  party ;  subtract  for  stop- 
pages and  well-recollected  zigzags ;  allow  a  mile 
and  a  half  per  hour  as  the  pace  when  you  have 
been  loitering  on  foot,  and  three  and  a  half  when 
you  have  been  walking  fast.  Occasional  running 
makes  an  almost  inappreciable  difference.  A  man 
is  always  much  nearer  the  lost  path  than  he  is 
inclined  to  fear. 

As  regards  the  second,  if  you  recollect  the  third, 
and  also  know  the  course  of  the  path  within  eight 
points  of  the  compass  (or  one  fourth  of  the  whole 
horizon),  it  is  a  great  gain  ;  or  even  if  you  know 
your  direction  within  twelve  points,  or  one  third 
of  the  whole  horizon,  that  knowledge  is  worth 
something.  Do  not  hurry,  if  you  get  bewildered. 
Stop  and  think.  Then  arrange  matters,  and  you 
are  safe.  When  Napoleon  was  once  caught  in  a 
fog,  while  riding  with  his  staff  across  a  shallow 
arm  of  the  Gulf  of  Suez,  he  thought,  as  usual. 


196  HOW  TO  ROUGH  IT. 

His  way  was  utterly  lost,  and  going  forward  he 
found  himself  in  deeper  water.  So  he  ordered  his 
staff  to  ride  from  him  in  radiating  lines  in  all 
directions,  and  such  of  them  as  should  find  shal- 
low water  to  shout  out.  If  Napoleon  had  been 
alone  on  that  occasion,  he  would  have  set  his  five 
wits  to  the  task  of  finding  the  right  way,  and  he 
would  have  found  it. 

Finally,  cheerfulness  in  large  doses  is  the  best 
medicine  one  can  take  along  in  his  outdoor 
tramps.  I  once  had  the  good  luck  to  hear  old 
Christopher  North  try  his  lungs  in  the  open  air  in 
Scotland.  Such  laughter  and  such  hill-shaking 
merry-heartedness  I  may  never  listen  to  again 
among  the  Lochs,  but  the  lesson  of  the  hour  (how 
it  rained  that  black  night !)  is  stamped  for  life 
upon  my  remembrance.  "  Clap  your  back  against 
the  cliff,"  he  shouted,  "  and  never  mind  the  del- 
uge ! "  Christopher  sleeps  now  under  the  turf  he 
trod  with  such  a  gallant  bearing,  but  few  mortals 
know  how  to  rough  it  like  him  ! 


AN   OLD-TIME   SOHOLAK, 


AN  OLD-TIME  SCHOLAR. 


|NE  winter  day,  many  years  ago,  as  I  was 
wandering  among  the  narrow  and  least 
interesting  streets  of  Rome,  I  heard  the 
drowsy  voice  of  a  man  oozing  faintly  out  of  a 
mean-looking,  half-closed  apartment,  which  I  hap- 
pened at  the  time  to  be  passing.  Listening  for  a 
moment,  I  discovered  that  I  was  in  the  vicinity  of 
a  small  public  book-sale,  and,  lifting  the  battered 
latch,  stepped  from  the  sidewalk  at  once  into  the 
squalid  room.  The  scene  which  met  my  eye 
it  is  impossible  to  forget.  The  apartment  was 
diminutive,  ill-furnished,  and  filled  with  that  un- 
wholesome odor  of  sour  dust  which  comes  pro- 
fusely into  unaired  premises  after  continued  occu- 


200  AN  OLD-TIME  SCHOLAR. 

pancy.  At  the  upper  end  of  a  long,  bare,  rough 
table  reclined  on  his  elbows  the  crumbling,  half- 
starved  figure  of  an  auctioneer,  a  man  in  his  last 
gradations  of  poverty  and  age.  Around  his  bony 
neck  was  twisted  a  gray,  untidy  wad  of  something 
woollen,  to  keep  off  the  damp  air  of  the  building, 
and  his  voice  rasped  out  occasionally,  with  a  husky 
chill,  from  the  shabby  enclosure  coiled  about  his 
windpipe.  Down  both  sides  of  the  table,  on  stools 
worn  by  a  century  of  bidders,  sat  a  row  of  bare- 
footed monks,  each  clad  in  his  peculiar  dress. 
Most  of  the  brothers  were  sad-eyed  old  men,  but 
I  noticed  here  and  there  among  them  a  younger 
mendicant,  evidently  preparing  himself,  by  various 
privations,  to  become  in  time  as  lean  and  pallid 
as  his  more  aged  companions.  They  all  held  large 
snuff-boxes  in  their  dingy  fingers,  from  which  they 
partook  frequently  of  the  titillating  dust.  Each 
one  consulted  occasionally  a  poorly  printed  cata- 
logue of  the  works  then  being  offered  by  the  slow- 
croaking  auctioneer.  All  told,  the  company  as- 
sembled consisted  of  not  over  twenty  persons,  and 
every  form  among  the  buyers,  save  one,  wore  the 


AN   OLD-TIME  SCHOLAR.  201 

conventual  garb  of  the  Roman  Catholic  priest- 
hood. Only  the  dull,  hoarse  buzz  of  the  auction- 
eer stirred  the  silence  of  that  sleepy  scene,  except 
when  the  name  of  a  purchaser  was  droned  out  to 
match  the  seller's  wheezy  voice.  I  counted  at 
one  time  four  nodding  heads,  not  to  be  reckoned 
among  the  bidders.  The  somnolent  atmosphere 
was  too  much  for  them,  and  they  had  no  part  or 
lot  in  the  purchases ;  they  were  far  away  among 
the  poppies  in  dreamland. 

The  only  man  without  a  cowl  whom  I  noticed 
that  day,  sitting  side  by  side  with  Capuchin  and 
Carmelite,  though  among  them,  was  not  of  them. 
Now  and  then  he  glanced  slowly  and  thoughtfully 
up  and  down  the  table,  scanning  the  leaden  fea- 
tures of  his  strange  associates  with  a  deep  and 
sorrowful  meaning.  His  own  countenance  was 
pale  with  disease  and  suffering.  A  respirator, 
which  he  had  taken  off  on  entering  the  room, 
lay  beside  him,  and  his  frequent  cough  betrayed 
the  subtle  destroyer's  rapid  advance  on  the  worn- 
out  body.  At  intervals  the  monks  slyly  nudged 
each  other,  and  whispered  furtively  together,  while 


AN   OLD-TIME  SCHOLAR. 


the  wan  stranger,  so  strikingly  in  contrast  with 
the  rest  of  the  company,  was  examining  his  cata- 
logue. When  he  looked  up  from  the  uninterest- 
ing pages  the  monks  became  silent  again,  and 
unobservant  as  statues.  They  were,  from  habit, 
consummate  masters  of  their  features  ;  and  Theo- 
dore Parker  never  knew  how  closely  he  had  been 
watched  by  that  passive  group  in  the  dark  old 
Roman  auction-room. 

Mr.  Parker  was  evidently  waiting  for  some 
special  book  to  be  put  up,  —  something  he  was 
anxious  to  possess  and  read,  perhaps,  before  he 
died ;  so  I  stayed  to  see  what  he  might  be  in  pur- 
suit of,  and  the  auctioneer  was  not  long  in  coming 
to  it.  It  proved  to  be  a  fat  little  quarto  of  the 
year  1637,  printed  in  Latin  and  clad  in  wrinkled 
parchment,  containing  the  letters  of  that  famous 
old  scholar,  Isaac  Casaubon.  The  battered  vol- 
ume was  mildly  started  at  two  pauls  by  an  antique 
and  not  over-cleanly  "  brother,"  gradually  rose  to 
four,  and  fell  at  last  into  the  Yankee  parson's  pos- 
session for  twice  that  sum,  —  a  bargain  unusual 
and  most  gratifying  to  the  purchaser,  who  bore  it 


AN   OLD-TIME  SCHOLAR.  203 

oft*  to  the  top  of  the  Pinciau  Hill,  where  we  sat 
down  together  in  a  sheltered  corner,  and  pored 
the  treasure  over  until  it  was  time  to  go  home. 
From  that  day,  through  Parker's  enthusiasm,  the 
name  of  Casaubon  has  had  especial  interest  for 
me  •  and  I  have  followed  more  than  once,  with 
increasing  pleasure,  his  student  career,  from  his 
boyhood  in  Geneva  to  his  death  in  England.  His 
"  mental  strength  and  sap,"  his  enthusiasm  for 
learning,  his  renunciation  of  ease,  society,  health 
even,  for  a  life  of  profound  and  earnest  pursuit 
after  knowledge,  combine  to  make  his  biography 
an  example  to  all  scholars,  and  an  intrinsic  addi- 
tion to  the  world's  best  reading.  He  was  not  a 
man  of  genius  ;  he  was  a  man  of  perseverance,  — 
a  devotee  of  erudition.  If  ever  a  student  lived 
who  was  inflamed  with  the  ardor  of  self-education, 
who  "  scorned  delights  and  lived  laborious  days," 
who  prostrated  himself  before  the  shrine  of  intel- 
lectual acquirement,  and  made  Wisdom  a  worship 
from  his  youth  up,  that  scholar  was  Isaac  Casau- 
bon, who  "  toiled  and  wrought  and  fought "  for 
the  bettering  of  his  mind  in  those  dark,  inhospita- 


204  AN   OLD-TIME  SCHOLAR. 

ble  days  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Believing  that 
the  disease  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived  was  a 
hatred  of  truth,  he  resolved  with  Protestant  fervor, 
so  far  as  he  was  able,  to  correct  the  errata  of  his 
recreant  time.  Although  he  only  partially  suc- 
ceeded, he  accomplished  brave  and  lasting  work 
enough  for  one  man's  possibilities  in  an  evil  era,  — 
an  era  hung  round  with  clouds  and  thick  dark- 
ness. 

I  know  not  why  it  is  that  I  feel  so  warm  a  per- 
sonal interest  in  people  who  lived  far  back  in  those 
dim  years ;  but  I  find  myself  not  infrequently  car- 
ing greatly  about  that  hunted  Casaubon  family, 
•who,  flying  for  their  lives  from  Gascony,  just 
escaping  in  season  to  avoid  the  blazing  fagot  of 
a  persecuting  mob,  arrived  in  Geneva  about  the 
year  1556.  I  follow  with  eager  concern  the  brave- 
hearted  refugees  into  the  Valley  of  Dauphine,  the 
undaunted  Huguenot  minister  breaking  the  peril- 
ous bread  of  life  to  his  exiled  flock  amid  the 
hazards  of  religious  controversy  and  extermi- 
nation. 

Pretty  soon  my  regard  for  that  banished  house- 


AN   OLD-TIME  SCHOLAR.  205 

hold  centres  in  the  young  lad  whose  health  is 
becoming  endangered  by  constant  and  unresting 
study.  His  struggles  through  dismal  years  of 
calamity  and  Jesuitical  defamation ;  his  want  of 
books,  and  the  opportunity  in  various  other  ways 
of  acquiring  the  knowledge  he  so  longed  to  possess ; 
the  cruel  injuries  of  fanatical  and  ferocious  critics, 
—  all  render  his  career  one  of  the  most  absorbing 
in  the  annals  of  heroic  scholarship.  No  student 
was  ever  more  persistently  pinched  by  narrow 
means  than  he,  and  no  man  ever  accomplished 
more  steady  work  with  so  few  helps.  Recondite 
learning  was  his  passion,  but  there  were  few  clas- 
sical treasures  open  to  him  in  those  hopeless  days. 
Text-books  he  had  none,  and  being  too  deep  down 
in  poverty,  during  his  youth,  to  own  the  works  so 
necessary  to  the  labor  he  set  himself  to  accom- 
plish, he  borrowed  his  tools  up  and  down  the 
German  cities  with  a  pertinacity  altogether  mar- 
vellous. Once  when  a  stingy  book-owner  declined 
to  lend  him  a  volume  he  sorely  needed  for  refer- 
ence, he  kept  on  asking,  and  fairly  won  the  treatise 
by  much  importunity.  "  Go  away,  Casaubon, 


206  AN  OLD-TIME  SCHOLAR. 

you  weary  me ! "  cried  the  close  old  citizen,  rich 
in  parchment-bound  treasures,  to  whom  Isaac  had 
applied  for  the  loan  of  the  book.  "I  will  not 
budge,"  replied  the  eager  scholar,  "until  you  hand 
over  your  annotated  Polybius,  now  locked  from 
sight  in  that  oaken  chest  up  stairs  !  "  And  he 
got  it  out  of  the  old  gentleman  at  last,  and  kept 
it  too,  as  long  as  he  wanted  to  use  it. 

What  a  list  of  friends  was  vouchsafed  to  the 
toiling  man  of  letters,  far  back  in  that  gloomy 
century  !  Scaliger,  Heinsius,  Grotius,  and  other 
worthies  of  the  time  were  in  familiar  relations 
with  him,  and  were  his  helpful  correspondents. 
When  he  visited  England,  the  highest  in  authority 
and  learning  flocked  about  him.  King  James 
himself  made  extraordinary  advances,  and  was 
never  weary  of  asking  questions  concerning  his 
studies.  His  Majesty  and  the  Continental  scholar 
discussed  Plutarch  and  Tacitus  together,  day  after 
day,  and  the  king,  "  in  consequence  of  Casaubon's 
singular  learning,"  granted  him  a  yearly  pension 
of  three  hundred  pounds.  The  monarch  was  insati- 
able of  Isaac's  conversation,  and  the  court  carriage 


AN   OLD-TIME  SCHOLAR.  207 

was  frequently  seen  rapidly  hurrying  with  Ca- 
saubon  to  Hampton  Court  or  Greenwich  to  meet 
his  royal  patron.  Every  Sunday  the  king  de- 
manded his  presence,  and  was  restless  until  he 
appeared.  Lord  Bacon  nattered  the  stranger  in  a 
way  to  give  him  lasting  content,  and  other  men 
of  eminence  in  the  kingdom  called  him  their 
peer. 

It  was  indeed  a  life  of  strange  vicissitudes  and  the 
sharpest  contrasts.  Mark  Pattison  of  Lincoln  Col- 
lege has  told  us  the  whole  story  of  it  in  unsurpass- 
able words,  full  of  zeal  and  instruction.  Whenever 
I  see  Mr.  Pattison's  name  connected  as  author  with 
book  or  essay  of  any  kind,  I  cannot  omit  the 
perusal  of  it,  for  he  has  never,  to  my  observation, 
affixed  that  name  to  an  unworthy  production. 
His  is  that  judgment  which  is  never  refracted  or 
discolored  by  prejudice ;  a  priceless  quality,  and 
one  not  too  often  met  with  either  in  criticism  or 
biography.  To  portray  with  graphic  and  impartial 
pen  the  career  of  a  somewhat  eccentric  Huguenot 
scholar,  writing  and  suffering  in  the  reign  of 
Henri  IV.,  is  a  task  surrounded  by  exceptional 


208  AN   OLD-TIME  SCHOLAR. 

perplexities;  hut  there  is  no  hook  extant,  of  a 
similar  character,  more  honestly  conceived  and 
more  profoundly  instructive,  than  the  portraiture 
of  sturdy  Isaac  Casaubon  as  depicted  by  the  elo- 
quent Rector  of  Lincoln  College. 


DIAMONDS   AND   PEAELS, 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 


WAS  lately  lounging  away  a  Roman 
morning  among  the  gems  in  Castellani's 
sparkling  rooms  -in  the  Via  Poli,  and 
one  of  the  treasures  handed  out  for  rapturous 
examination  was  a  diamond  necklace,  just  finished 
for  a  Russian  princess,  at  the  cost  of  sixty  thou- 
sand dollars ;  then  was  displayed  a  set  of  pearls 
for  an  English  lady,  who  must  pay,  before  she  bears 
her  prize  homeward,  the  sum  of  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars. Castellani  junior,  a  fine,  patriotic  young 
fellow,  who  has  since  been  banished  for  his  liberal 
ideas  of  government,  smiled  as  he  read  astonish- 
ment in  my  eyes,  and  proceeded  forthwith  to 
dazzle  me  still  further  with  more  gems  of  rarest 


212  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

beauty,  till  then  hidden  away  in  his  strong  iron 
boxes. 

Castellani,  father  and  son,  are  princes  among 
jewellers,  and  deserve  to  be  ranked  as  artists  of  a 
superior  order.  They  have  a  grand  way  of  doing 
things,  right  good  to  look  upon  ;  and  I  once  saw 
a  countrywoman  of  ours,  who  has  written  immor- 
tal words  in  the  cause  of  freedom,  made  the  re- 
cipient of  a  gem  at  their  hands,  which  she  cannot, 
hut  prize  as  among  the  chief  tributes  so  numer- 
ously bestowed  in  all  parts  of  the  Christian  world 
where  her  feet  have  wandered. 

Castellani's  jeweller's  shop  has  existed  in  Rome 
since  the  year  1814.  At  that  time  all  the  efforts 
of  Castellani  the  elder  were  directed  to  the  imita- 
tion of  the  newest  English  and  French  fashions, 
and  particularly  to  the  setting  of  diamonds.  This 
he  continued  till  1823.  From  1823  to  1827  he 
sought  aid  for  his  art  in  the  study  of  technology. 
And  not  in  vain  ;  for  in  1826  he  read,  before  the 
Accademia  dei  Lined  of  Rome  (founded  by  Fede- 
rico  Cesi),  a  paper  on  the  chemical  process  of  col- 
oring a  fjiallone  (yellow)  in  the  manufacture  of 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  213 

gold,  in  which  he  announced  some  facts  in  the 
action  of  .electricity  long  before  Delarive  and 
other  chemists,  as  noticed  in  the  fc'  Quarterly 
Journal  of  Science,"  December,  1828,  No.  6,  and 
the  "  Bibliotheque  Universelle  de  Geneve,"  1829, 
Tom.  XL,  p.  84. 

At  this  period  Etruria  began  to  lay  open  the 
treasures  of  her  art.  All  were  struck  by  the 
beauty  of  the  jewels  found  in  the  tombs;  but 
Castellan!  was  the  first  who  thought  of  reprodu- 
cing some  of  them ;  and  he  did  it  to  the  great 
admiration  of  the  amateurs,  foremost  among 
whom  may  be  mentioned  the  Duke  Don  Michel- 
angelo Caetani,  a  man  of  great  artistic  feeling, 
who  aided  by  his  counsels  and  his  designs  the  re- 
naissance of  Roman  jewelry. 

The  discovery  of  the  celebrated  tomb  Regulini- 
Galassi  at  Cervetri  was  an  event  in  jewelry.  The 
articles  of  gold  found  in  it  (all  now  in  the  Vatican) 
were  diligently  studied  by  Castellani,  when  called 
upon  to  appraise  them.  Comprehending  the  meth- 
ods and  the  character  of  the  work,  he  boldly 
followed  tradition. 


214  DIAMONDS  AXD  PEARLS. 

The  discoveries  of  Campanari  of  Toscanella, 
and  of  the  Marquis  Campana  of  Rome,  gave  val- 
uable aid  to  this  new  branch  of  art.  Thus  it 
went  on  improving  ;  and  Castellani  produced  very 
expert  pupils,  all  of  them  Italians.  Fashion,  if 
not  public  feeling,  came  to  aid  the  renaissance,  and 
others,  in  Rome  and  elsewhere,  undertook  similar 
work  after  the  models  of  Castellani.  It  may- be 
asserted  that  the  triumph  of  the  classic  jewelry  is 
now  complete.  Castellaui  renounced  the  modern 
methods  of  chasing  and  engraving,  and  adhered 
only  to  the  antique  fashion  of  overlaying  with 
cords,  grains,  and  finest  threads  of  gold.  From 
the  Etruscan  style  he  passed  to  the  Greek,  the 
Roman,  the  Christian.  In  this  last  he  introduced 
the  rough  mosaics,  such  as  were  used  by  the  Byz- 
antines with  much  effect  and  variety  of  tint  and 
of  design. 

The  work  of  Castellani  is  dear  ;  but  that  results 
from  his  method  of  execution,  and  from  the  perfect 
finish  of  all  the  details.  He  does  not  seek  for 
cheapness,  but  for  the  perfection  of  art :  this  is 
the  only  thing  he  has  in  view.  As  he  is  a  man 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  215 

of  genius,  I  have  devoted   considerable  space  to 
his  admirable  productions. 

The  Talmud  informs  us  that  Noah  had  no  other 
light  in  the  ark  than  that  which  came  from  pre- 
cious stones.  Why  do  not  our  modern  jewellers 
take  a  hint  from  the  ancient  safety-boat,  and 
light  up  accordingly  1  I  dare  say  old  Tavernier, 
that  knowing  French  gem-trader  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  had  the  art  of  illuminating  his 
chateau  at  Aubonne  in  a  way  wondrous  to  the 
beholder.  Among  all  the  jewellers,  ancient  or 
modern,  Jean  Baptiste  Tavernier  seems  to  me  the 
most  interesting  character.  His  great  knowledge 
of  precious  stones,  his  acute  observation  and  un- 
failing judgment,  stamp  him  as  one  of  the  supe- 
rior men  of  his  day.  Forty  years  of  his  life  he 
passed  in  travelling  through  Turkey,  Persia,  and 
the  East  Indies,  trading  in  gems  of  the  richest 
and  rarest  lustre.  A  great  fortune  was  amassed, 
and  a  barony  in  the  Canton  of  Berne,  on  the  Lake 
of  Geneva,  was  purchased  as  no  bad  harbor  for 
the  rest  of  his  days.  There  he  hoped  to  enjoy 
the  vast  wealth  he  had  so  industriously  acquired. 


21 G  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

But,  uhis !  stupid  nephews  abound  everywhere ; 
and  one  of  his,  to  whom  he  had  intrusted  a  freight 
worth  two  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  livres, 
caused  him  so  great  a  loss  that,  at  the  age  of 
eighty-four,  he  felt  obliged  to  sail  again  for  the 
East  in  order  to  retrieve  his  fortune,  or  at  least 
repair  the  ill  luck  arising  from  his  disastrous  spec- 
ulation. -He  forgot,  poor  old  man  !  that  youth 
and  strength  are  necessary  to  fight  against  re- 
verses; and  he  died  at  Moscow,  on  his  way,  in 
1689.  When  you  visit  the  great  Library  in  Paris, 
search  for  his  "  Travels,"  in  three  volumes,  pub- 
lished in  1677-79,  on  a  shelf  among  the  quartos. 
Take  them  down,  and  spend  a  pleasant  hour  in 
looking  through  the  pages  of  the  enthusiastic  old 
merchant-jeweller.  His  adventures  in  quest  of 
diamonds  and  other  precious  commodities  are  well 
told ;  and,  although  he  makes  the  mistakes  inci- 
dent to  many  other  early  travellers,  he  never  wil- 
fully romances.  He  supposed  he  was  the  first 
European  who  had  explored  the  mines  of  Gol- 
conda ;  but  an  Englishman  named  Methold  visited 
them  as  early  as  1622,  and  found  thirty  thousand 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  217 

Laborers  working  away  for  the  rich  Marcaudar,  who 
paid  three  hundred  thousand  pagodas  annually  to 
the  king  for  the  privilege  of  digging  in  a  single 
mine.  The  first  mine  visited  by  Tavernier  was  that 
of  Raolconda,  a  five-days'  journey  from  Golconda. 
The  manner  of  trading  there  he  thus  describes  :  — 

"  A  very  pretty  sight  is  that  presented  every  morning 
by  the  children  of  the  master-miners  and  of  other  in- 
habitants of  the  district.  The  boys,  the  eldest  of  which 
is  not  over  sixteen  or  the  youngest  under  ten,  assemble 
and  sit  under  a  large  tree  in  the  public  square  of  the 
village.  Each  has  his  diamond  \veight  in  a  bag  hung 
on  one  side  of  his  girdle,  and  on  the  other  a  purse  con- 
taining sometimes  as  much  as  five  or  six  hundred  pago- 
das. Here  they  wait  for  such  persons  as  have  diamonds? 
to  sell,  either  from  the  vicinity  or  from  any  other  mine. 
When  a  diamond  is  brought  to  them,  it  is  immediately 
handed  to  the  eldest  boy,  who  is  tacitly  acknowledged 
as  the  head  of  this  little  band.  By  him  it  is  carefully 
examined,  and  then  passed  to  his  neighbor,  who,  having 
also  inspected  it,  transmits  it  to  the  next  boy.  The 
stone  is  thus  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  amid  unbroken 
silence,  until  it  returns  to  that  of  the  eldest,  who  then 
asks  the  price  and  makes  the  bargain.  If  the  little 


218  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

man  is  thought  by  his  comrades  to  have  given  too  high 
a  price,  he  must  keep  the  stone  on  his  own  account. 
In  the  evening  the  children  take  account  of  stock,  ex- 
amine their  purchases,  and  class  them  according  to 
their  water,  size,  and  purity,  putting  on  each  stone  the 
price  they  expect  to  get  for  it ;  they  then  carry  the 
stones  to  the  masters,  who  have  always  assortments  to 
complete,  and  the  profits  are  divided  among  the  young 
traders,  with  this  difference  in  favor  of  the  head  of  the 
firm,  that  he  receives  one  fourth  per  cent  more  than 
the  others.  These  children  are  so  perfectly  acquainted 
with  the  value  of  all  sorts  of  gems  that  if  one  of  them, 
after  buying  a  stone,  is  willing  to  lose  one  half  per  cent 
on  it,  a  companion  is  always  ready  to  take  it." 

Master  Tavernier  discourses  at  some  length  on 
the  ingenious  methods  adopted  by  the  laborers  to 
conceal  diamonds  which  they  have  found,  some- 
times swallowing  them,  and  he  mentions  a  miner 
who  hid  in  the  corner  of  his  eye  a  stone  of  two 
carats !  Altogether,  his  work  is  one  worthy  to 
be  turned  over  for  its  graphic  pictures  of  gem- 
hunting  two  hundred  years  ago. 

Professor  Tennant  says,  "  One  of  the  common 
marks  of  opulence  and  taste  in  all  countries  is 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  219 

the  selection,  preservation,  and  ornamental  use 
of  gems  and  precious  stones."  Diamonds,  from 
the  time  Alexander  ordered  pieces  of  flesh  to  be 
thrown  into  the  inaccessible  valley  of  Zulmeah, 
that  the  vultures  might  bring  up  with  them  the 
precious  stones  which  attached  themselves,  have 
everywhere  ranked  among  the  luxuries  of  a 
refined  cultivation.  It  is  the  most  brilliant  of 
stones,  and  the  hardest  known  body.  Pliny  sa}Ts 
it  is  so  hard  a  substance,  that,  if  one  should  be 
laid  on  an  anvil  and  struck  with  a  hammer,  look 
out  for  the  hammer  !  [Mem.  If  the  reader  have 
a  particularly  fine  diamond,  never  mind  Pliny's 
story  :  the  risk  is  something,  and  Pliny  cannot 
be  reached  for  an  explanation,  should  his  experi- 
ment fail.]  By  its  own  dust  only  can  the  dia- 
mond be  cut  and  polished ;  and  its  great  lustre 
challenges  the  admiration  of  the  world.  Ordi- 
nary individuals,  with  nothing  to  distinguish 
them  from  the  common  herd,  have  "got  dia- 
monds," and  straightway  became  ever  afterwards 
famous.  An  uncommon-sized  brilliant,  stuck  into 
the  front  linen  of  a  foolish  fellow,  will  set  him 


220  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

up  as  a  marked  man,  and  point  him  out  as  some- 
thing worth  looking  at.  The  announcement,  in 
the  papers  of  the  day,  that  "  Mademoiselle  Mars 
would  wear  all  her  diamonds,"  never  failed  to 
stimulate  the  sale  of  tickets  on  all  such  occasions. 
As  it  may  interest  my  readers  to  know  what  treas- 
ures an  actress  of  1828  possessed,  I  copy  from 
the  catalogue  of  her  effects  a  few  items. 

"Two  rows  of  brilliants  set  en  chatons,  one  row 
composed  of  forty-six  brilliants,  the  other  of  forty- 
four;  eight  sprigs  of  wheat  in  brilliants,  composed 
of  about  five  hundred  brilliants,  weighing  fifty- 
seven  carats ;  a  garland  of  brilliants  that  may  be 
taken  to  pieces  and  worn  as  three  distinct  orna- 
ments, three  large  brilliants  forming  the  centre 
of  the  principal  flowers,  the  whole  comprising 
seven  hundred  and  nine  brilliants,  weighing  eighty- 
five  carats  three-quarters ;  a  Sevigne  mounted  in 
colored  gold,  in  the  centre  of  which  is  a  burnt 
topaz  surrounded  by  diamonds  weighing  about 
three  grains  each,  the  drops  consisting  of  three 
opals  similarly  surrounded  by  diamonds ;  one  of 
the  three  opals  is  of  very  large  size,  in  shape 


'     DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  221 

oblong,  with  rounded  corners  ;  the  whole  set  in 
gold  studded  with  rubies  and  pearls. 

"  A  parure  of  opals,  consisting  of  a  necklace  and 
Sevigne,  two  bracelets,  ear-rings  the  studs  of  which 
are  emeralds,  comb,  belt-plate  set  with  an  opal 
in  the  shape  of  a  triangle ;  the  whole  mounted 
in  wrought  gold,  studded  with  small  emeralds. 

"A  Gothic  bracelet  of  enamelled  gold,  in  the 
centre  a  burnt  topaz  surrounded  by  three  large 
brilliants  ;  in  each  link  composing  the  bracelet 
is  a  square  emerald ;  at  each  extremity  of  the 
topaz  forming  the  centre  ornament  are  two  balls 
of  burnished  gold  and  two  of  wrought  gold. 

"A  pair  of  girandole  ear-rings  of  brilliants,  each 
consisting  of  a  large  stud  brilliant  and  of  three 
pear-shaped  brilliants  united  by  four  small  ones  ; 
another  pair  of  ear-rings  composed  of  fourteen 
small  brilliants  forming  a  cluster  of  grapes,  each 
stud  of  a  single  brilliant. 

"A  diamond  cross  composed  of  eleven  brilliants, 
the  ring  being,  also  of  brilliants. 

"  A  bracelet  with  a  gold  chain,  the  centre-piece 
of  which  is  a  fine  opal  surrounded  w ith  brilliants ; 


222  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

the  opal  is  oblong  and  mounted  in  the  Gothic 
style  i  the  clasp  is  an  opal. 

"  A  gold  bracelet,  with  grecque  surrounded  by- 
six  angel  heads  graven  on  turquoises,  and  a  head 
of  Augustus. 

"A  serpent  bracelet  a  la  Cleopatre,  enamelled 
black,  with  a  turquoise  on  its  head. 

"A  bracelet  with  wrought  links  burnished  on 
a  dead  ground;  the  clasp  a  heart  of  burnished 
gold  with  a  turquoise  in  the  centre,  graven  with 
Hebrew  characters. 

"  A  bracelet  with  a  row  of  Mexican  chain,  and  a 
gold  ring  set  with  a  turquoise  and  fastened  to  the 
bracelet  by  a  Venetian  chain. 

"A  ring,  the  hoop  encircled  with  small  dia- 
monds. 

"  A  ring,  a  la  chevaliere,  set  with  a  square  em- 
erald between  two  pearls. 

"  A  gold  chevaliere  ring,  on  which  is  engraved 
a  small  head  of  Napoleon. 

"  Two  belt-buckles,  Gothic  style,  one  of  bur- 
nished gold,  the  other  set  with  emeralds,  opals, 
and  pearls. 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  223 

"A  necklace  of  two  rows  coral;  a  small  brace- 
let of  engraved  carnelians. 

"  A  comb  of  rose  diamonds,  form  D  5,  sur- 
mounted by  a  large  rose  surrounded  by  smaller 
ones,  and  a  cinque-foil  in  roses,  the  chatons  alter- 
nated, below  a  band  of  roses." 

The  weight  of  the  diamond,  as  every  one  knows, 
is  estimated  in  carats  all  over  the  world.  And 
what  is  a  carat,  pray]  and  whence  its  name?  It 
is  of  Indian  origin,  a  kirat  being  a  small  seed  that 
was  used  in  India  to  weigh  diamonds  with.  Four 
grains  are  equal  to  one  carat,  and  six  carats  make 
one  pennyweight.  But  there  is  no  standard  weight 
fixed  for  the  finest  diamonds.  Competition  alone 
among  purchasers  must  arrange  their  price.  The 
commercial  value  of  gems  is  rarely  affected,  and 
among  all  articles  of  commerce  the  diamond  is  the 
least  liable  to  depreciation.  Panics  that  shake 
empires  and  topple  trade  into  the  dust  seldom 
lower  the  cost  of  this  king  of  precious  stojies ; 
and  there  is  no  personal  property  that  is  so  apt 
to  remain  unchanged  in  money  value. 

Diamond    anecdotes    abound,   the   world    over; 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 


but  I  have  lately  met  with  two  brief  ones  which 
ought  to  be  preserved. 

"  Carlier,  a  bookseller  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV., 
left,  at  his  death,  to  each  of  his  children  —  one  a  girl 
of  fifteen,  the  other  a  captain  in  the  guards  —  a  sum 
of  five  hundred  thousand  francs,  then  an  enormous 
fortune.  Mademoiselle  Carlier,  young,  handsome,  and 
wealthy,  had  numerous  suitors.  One  of  these,  a  M. 
Tiquet,  a  Councillor  of  the  Parliament,  sent  her  on 
her  fete-day  a  bouquet,  in  which  the  calices  of  the 
roses  were  of  large  diamonds.  The  magnificence  of 
this  gift  gave  so  good  an  opinion  of  the  wealth,  taste, 
and  liberality  of  the  donor,  that  the  lady  gave  him  the 
preference  over  all  his  competitors.  But  sad  was  the 
disappointment  that  followed  the  bridal!  The  hus- 
band was  rather  poor  than  rich  ;  and  the  bouquet, 
that  had  cost  forty-five  thousand  francs  (nine  thou- 
sand dollars),  had  been  bought  on  credit,  and  was  paid 
out  of  the  bride's  fortune." 

"The  gallants  of  the  Court  of  Louis  XV.  carried 
extravagance  as  far  as  the  famous  Egyptian  queen. 
She  melted  a  pearl,  —  they  pulverized  diamonds,  to 
prove  their  insane  magnificence.  A  lady  having  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  have  the  portrait  of  her  canary 
in  a  ring,  the  last  Prince  de  Conti  requested  she  would 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  225 

allow  him  to  give  it  to  her  ;  she  accepted,  on  condi- 
tion that  no  precious  gems  should  be  set  in  it.  When 
•  the  ring  was  brought  to  her,  however,  a  diamond  cov- 
ered the  painting.  The  lady  had  the  brilliant  taken 
out  of  the  setting,  and  sent  it  back  to  the  giver.  The 
Prince,  determined  not  to  be  gainsaid,  caused  the  stone 
to  be  ground  to  dust,  which  he  used  to  dry  the  ink  of 
the  letter  he  wrote  to  her  on  the  subject." 

Let  me  mention  some  of  the  most  noted  dia- 
monds in  the  world.  The  largest  one  known, 
that  of  the  Rajah  of  Matan,  in  Borneo,  weighs 
three  hundred  and  sixty-seven  carats.  It  is  egg- 
shaped  and  is  of  the  finest  water.  Two  large  war- 
vessels,  with  all  their  guns,  powder,  and  shot,  and 
one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  money, 
were  once  refused  for  it.  And  yet  its  weight  is 
only  about  three  ounces ! 

The  second  in  size  is  the  Orloff,  or  Grand  Rus- 
sian, sometimes  called  the  Moon  of  the  Mountain, 
of  one  hundred  and  ninety-three  carats.  The 
Great  Mogul  once  owned  it.  Then  it  passed  by 
conquest  into  the  possession  of  Nadir,  the  Shah 
of  Persia.  In  1747  he  was  assassinated,  and  all 
the  crown-jewels  slipped  out  of  the  dead  man's 


226  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

fingers,  —  a  common  incident  to  mortality.  What 
became  of  the  great  diamond  no  one  at  that  time 
knew,  till  one  day  a  chief  of  the  Anganians  walked, 
mole-footed,  into  the  presence  of  a  rich  Armenian 
gentleman  in  Balsora,  and  proposed  to  sell  him  (no 
lisping,  —  not  a  word  to  betray  him)  a  large  emer- 
ald, a  splendid  ruby,  and  the  great  Orloff  dia- 
mond. Mr.  Shafrass  counted  out  fifty  thousand 
piastres  for  the  lot ;  and  the  chief  folded  up  his 
robes  and  silently  departed.  Ten  years  afterwards 
the  people  of  Amsterdam  were  apprised  that  a 
great  treasure  had  arrived  in  their  city,  and  could 
be  bought,  too.  Nobody  there  felt  rich  enough  to 
buy  the  great  Orloff  sparkler.  So  the  English 
and  Russian  governments  sent  bidders  to  compete 
for  the  gem.  The  Empress  Catharine  offered  the 
highest  sum;  and  her  agent,  the  Count  Orloff, 
paid  for  it  in  her  name  four  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  roubles,  cash  down,  and  a  grant  of  Rus- 
sian nobility!  The  size  of  this  diamond  is  that 
of  a  pigeon's  egg,  and  its  lustre  and  water  are  of 
the  finest :  its  shape  is  not  perfect. 

The  Grand  Tuscan  is  next  in  order,  for  many 


DIAMONDS   AND  PEARLS.  227 

years  held  by  the  Medici  family.  It  is  now  owned 
by  the  Austrian  Emperor,  and  is  the  pride  of  the 
Imperial  Court.  It  is  cut  as  a  rose,  nine-sided, 
and  is  of  a  yellow  tint,  lessening  somewhat  its 
value.  Its  weight  is  one  hundred  and  thirty-nine 
and  a  half  carats ;  and  its  value  is  estimated  at 
one  hundred  and  fifty-five  thousand,  six  hundred 
and  eighty-eight  pounds. 

The  most  perfect,  though  not  the  largest,  dia- 
mond in  Europe  is  the  Regent,  which  belongs  to 
the  Imperial  diadem  of  France.  Napoleon  the 
First  used  to  wear  it  in  the  hilt  of  his  state  sword. 
Its  original  weight  was  four  hundred  and  ten 
carats ;  but  after  it  was  cut  as  a  brilliant  (a  labor 
of  two  years,  at  a  cost  of  three  thousand  pounds 
sterling),  it  wns  reduced  to  one  hundred  and 
thirty-seven  carats.  It  came  from  the  mines  of 
Golconda ;  and  the  thief  who  stole  it  therefrom 
sold  it  to  the  grandfather  of  the  Earl  of  Chatham, 
when  he  was  governor  of  a  fort  in  the  East  Indies. 
Lucky  Mr.  Pitt  pocketed  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
five  thousand  pounds  for  his  treasure,  the  pur- 
chaser being  Louis  XV.  This  amount,  it  is  said, 


228  DIAMONDS  AXD  PEARLS. 

is  only  half  its  real  value.  However,  as  it  cost 
the  Governor,  according  to  his  own  statement, 
some  years  after  the  sale,  only  twenty  thousand 
pounds,  his  speculation  was  "something  hand- 
some." Pope  had  a  fling  at  Pitt,  in  his  poetical 
way,  intimating  a  wrong  with  regard  to  the  pos- 
session of  the  diamond ;  but  I  believe  the  trans- 
action was  an  honest  one.  In  the  inventory  of 
the  crown-jewels,  the  Regent  diamond  is  set  down 
at  twelve  million  francs  ! 

The  Star  of  the  South  comes  next  in  point  of 
celebrity.  It  is  the  largest  diamond  yet  obtained 
from  Brazil ;  and  it  is  owned  by  the  King  of  Por- 
tugal. It  weighed  originally  two  hundred  and  fifty- 
four  carats,  but  was  trimmed  down  to  one  hundred 
and  twenty -five.  The  grandfather  of  the  present 
king  had  a  hole  bored  in  it,  and  liked  to  strut 
about  on  gala-days  with  the  gem  suspended  around 
his  neck.  This  magnificent  jewel  was  found  by 
three  banished  miners,  who  were  seeking  for  gold 
during  their  exile.  A  great  drought  had  laid  dry 
the  bed  of  a  river,  and  there  they  discovered  this 
lustrous  wonder.  Of  course,  on  promulgating  their 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  229 

great  lack,  their  sentence   was  revoked   immedi- 
ately. 

The  world-renowned  Koh-i-noor  next  claims  at- 
tention. A  Venetian  diamond-cutter  (wretched, 
bungling  Hortensio  Borgis !)  reduced  the  great 
Koh-i-noor  from  its  primitive  weight  —  nine  hun- 
dred carats  —  to  two  hundred  and  eighty.  Taver- 
nier  saw  this  celebrated  jewel  two  hundred  years 
ago,  not  long  after  its  discovery.  It  came  into  the 
possession  of  Queen  Victoria  in  1849,  three  thou- 
sand years,  say  the  Eastern  sages,  after  it  belonged 
to  Kama,  the  King  of  Anga  !  On  the  16th  of  July, 
1852,  the  Duke  of  Wellington  superintended  the 
commencement  of  the  re-cutting  of  the  famous 
gem,  and  for  thirty-eight  days  the  operation  went 
on.  Eight  thousand  pounds  were  expended  in  the 
cutting  and  polishing.  When  it  was  finished  and 
ready  to  be  restored  to  the  royal  keeping,  the 
person  (a  celebrated  jeweller)  to  whom  the  whole 
care  of  the  work  had  been  intrusted  allowed  a 
friend  to  take  it  in  his  fingers  for  examination. 
While  he  was  feasting  his  eyes  over  it,  and  turn- 
ing it  to  the  light  in  order  to  get  the  full  force  of 


230  DIA.WOXDS  AXD  PEARLS. 

its  marvellous  beauty,  down  it  slipped  from  his 
grasp  and  fell  upon  the  ground.  The  jeweller 
nearly  faiuteH.  with  alarm,  and  poor  "  Butter- 
Fingers  "  was  completely  jellified  with  fear.  Had 
the  stone  struck  the  ground  at  a  particular  an- 
gle, it  would  have  split  in  two,  and  been  ruined 
forever. 

Innumerable  anecdotes  cluster  about  this  fine 
diamond.  Having  passed  through  the  hands  of 
various  Indian  princes,  violence  and  fraud  are 
copiously  mingled  up  with  its  history.  I  quote 
one  of  Madame  de  Barrera's  stories  concerning 
it:  — 

"  The  King  of  Lahore  having  heard  that  the  King 
of  Cabul  possessed  a  diamond  that  had  belonged  to  the 
Great  Mogul,  the  largest  and  purest  known,  he  invited 
the  fortunate  owner  to  his  court,  and  there,  having  him 
in  his  power,  demanded  his  diamond.  The  guest,  how- 
ever, had  provided  himself  against  such  a  contingency 
with  a  perfect  imitation  of  the  coveted  jewel.  After 
some  show  of  resistance,  he  reluctantly  acceded  to  the 
wishes  of  his  powerful  host.  The  delight  of  Runjeet 
was  extreme,  but  of  short  duration,  —  the  lapidary  to 
whom  he  gave  orders  to  mount  his  new  acquisition 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  231 

pronouncing  it  to  be  merely  a  bit  of  crystal.  The  mor- 
tification and  rage  of  the  despot  were  unbounded.  He 
immediately  caused  the  palace  of  the  King  of  Cabul  to 
be  invested,  and  ransacked  from  top  to  bottom.  But 
for  a  long  while  all  search  was  vain  ;  at  last  a  slave  be- 
trayed the  secret,  —  the  diamond  was  found  concealed 
beneath  a  heap  of  ashes.  Runjeet  Singh  had  it  set  in 
an  armlet,  between  two  diamonds,  each  the  size  of  a 
sparrow's  egg." 

The  Skah  of  Persia,  presented  to  the  Emperor 
Nicholas  by  the  Persian  monarch,  is  a  very  beauti- 
ful stone,  irregularly  shaped.  Its  weight  is  eighty- 
six  carats,  and  its  water  and  lustre  are  superb. 

The  various  stories  attached  to  the  Sancy  dia- 
mond, the  next  in  point  of  value,  would  occupy 
many  pages.  During  four  centuries  it  has  been 
accumulating  romantic  circumstances,  until  il  is 
now  very  difficult  to  give  its  true  narrative.  If 
Charles  the  Bold,  the  last  Duke  of  Burgundy,  ever 
wore  it  suspended  round  his  neck,  he  sported  a 
magnificent  jewel.  If  the  curate  of  Montagny 
bought  it  for  a  crown  of  a  soldier  who  picked 
it  up  after  the  defeat  of  Granson,  not  knowing  its 
value,  the  soldier  was  unconsciously  cheated  by 


232  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

the  curate.  If  a  citizen  of  Berne  got  it  out  of 
the  curate's  fingers  for  three  crowns,  he  was  a 
shrewd  knave.  De  Barante  says,  that  in  1492 
(Columbus  was  then  about  making  land  in  this 
hemisphere)  this  diamond  was  sold  in  Lucerne  for 
five  thousand  ducats.  After  that,  all  sorts  of 
incidents  are  related  to  have  befallen  it.  Here 
is  one  of  them.  —  Henry  IV.  was  once  in  a  strait 
for  money.  The  Sieur  de  Sancy  (who  gave  his 
name  to  the  gem)  wished  to  send  the  monarch  his 
diamond,  that  he  might  raise  funds  upon  it  from 
the  Jews  of  Metz.  A  trusty  servant  sets  off  with 
it,  to  brave  the  perils  of  travel,  by  no  means  slight 
iu  those  rough  days,  and  is  told,  in  case  of  danger 
from  brigands,  to  swallow  the  precious  trust.  The 
messenger  is  found  dead  on  the  road,  and  is  buried 
by  peasants.  De  Sancy,  impatient  that  his  man 
does  not  arrive,  seeks  for  his  body,  takes  it  from 
the  ground  where  it  is  buried,  opens  it,  and  re- 
covers his  gem !  In  some  way,  not  now  known, 
Louis  XV.  got  the  diamond  into  his  possession, 
and  wore  it  at  his  coronation.  In  1789,  it  disap- 
peared from  the  crown-treasures,  and  no  trace  of 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  233 


it  was  discovered  till  1830,  when  it  was  offered 
for  sale  by  a  merchant  in  Paris.  Count  Demi- 
doff  had  a  lawsuit  over  it  in  1832 ;  and  as  it 
is  valued  at  a  million  of  francs,  it  was  worth 
quarrelling  about. 

The  Nassuck  Diamond,  valued  at  thirty  thou- 
sand pounds,  is  a  magnificent  jewel,  nearly  as 
large  as  a  common  walnut.  Pure  as  a  drop  of 
dew,  it  ranked  among  the  richest  treasures  in 
the  British  conquest  of  India. 

What  has  become  of  the  great  triangular  Blue 
Diamond,  weighing  sixty-seven  carats,  stolen  from 
the  French  Court  at  the  time  of  the  great  robbery 
of  the  crown-jewels  1  Alas !  it  has  never  been 
heard  from.  Three  millions  of  francs  represented 
its  value;  and  no  one,  to  this  day,  knows  its 
hiding-place.  What  a  pleasant  morning's  work 
it  would  be  to  unearth  this  gem  from  its  dark 
corner,  where  it  has  lain  perdu  so  many  years  j 
The  bells  of  Notre  Dame  should  proclaim  such 
good  fortune  to  all  Paris. 

But  enough  of  these  individual  magnificos. 
Their  beauty  and  rarity  have  attracted  sufficient 


231-  DIAMONDS  AXD   PKARLS. 

attention  in  their  day.  Yet  I  should  like  to 
handle  a  few  of  those  Spanish  splendors  which 
Queen  Isabel  II.  wore  at  the  reception  of  the 
ambassadors  from  Morocco.  That  day  she  shone 
in  diamonds  alone  to  the  amount  of  two  million 
dollars  !  I  once  saw  a  monarch's  sword,  of  which 

"  The  jewelled  hilt, 
Whose  diamonds  lit  the  passage  of  his  blade," 

was  valued  at  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  ! 
But  one  of  the  pleasantest  of  my  personal  re- 
membrances, connected  with  diamonds,  is  the 
picking  up  of  a  fine,  lustrous  gem  which  fell 
from  0.  B.'s  violin  bow  (the  gift  of  the  Duke 
of  Devonshire),  one  night,  after  he  had  been 
playing  his  magic  instrument  for  the  special 
delight  of  a  few  friends.  The  tall  Norwegian 
wrapped  it  in  a  bit  of  newspaper,  when  it  was 
restored  to  him,  and  thrust  it  into  his  cigar- 
box!  [0.  B.  sometimes  carried  his  treasures  in 
strange  places.  One  day  he  was  lamenting  the 
loss  of  a  large  sum  of  money  which  he  had  re- 
ceived as  the  proceeds  of  a  concert  in  New  York. 
A  week  afterwards  he  found  his  missing  nine 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  '   235 

hundred   dollars   stuffed    away   in  a  dark  corner 
of  one  of  his  violin-cases.] 

There  is  a  very  pretty  diamond-story  current  in 
connection  with  the  good  Empress  Eugenie.  Ma- 
dame de  Barrera  relates  it  in  this  wise  :  — 

"  When  the  sovereign  of  France  marries,  by  virtue 
of  an  ancient  custom  kept  up  to  the  present  day,  the 
bride  is  presented  by  the  city  of  Paris  \vith  a  valuable 
gift.  Another  is  also  offered  at  the  birth  of  the  first- 
born. 

"In  1853,  when  the  choice  of  His  Majesty  Napoleon 
III.  raised  the  Empress  Eugenie  to  the  throne,  the  city 
of  Paris,  represented  by  the  Municipal  Commission, 
voted  the  sum  of  six  hundred  thousand  francs  for  the 
purchase  of  a  diamond  necklace  to  be  presented  to  Her 
Majesty. 

"  The  news  caused  quite  a  sensation  among  the  jew- 
ellers. Each  was  eager  to  contribute  his  finest  gems  to 
form  the  Empress's  necklace, — a  necklace  which  was 
to  make  its  appearance  under  auspices  as  favorable  as 
those  of  the  famous  Queen's  Necklace  had  been  unpro- 
pitious.  But  on  the  28th  of  January,  two  days  after 
the  vote  of  the  Municipal  Commission,  all  this  zeal 
was  disappointed;  the  young  Empress  having  expressed 


236  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

a  wish  that  the  six  hundred  thousand  francs  should  be 
used  for  the  foundation  of  an  educational  institution 
for  poor  young  girls  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine. 

"  The  wish  has  been  realized,  and,  thanks  to  the  be- 
neficent fairy  in  whose  compassionate  heart  it  had  its 
origin,  the  diamond  necklace  has  been  metamorphosed 
into  an  elegant  edifice,  with  charming  gardens.  Here 
a  hundred  and  fifty  young  girls,  at  first,  but  now  as 
many  as  four  hundred,  have  been  placed,  and  receive, 
under  the  management  of  those  angels  of  charity  called 
the  Sisters  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  an  excellent  educa- 
tion, proportioned  to  their  station,  and  fitting  them  to 
be  useful  members  of  society. 

"  The  solemn  opening  of  the  Maison  Eugenie-Napo- 
leon took  place  on  the  1st  of  January,  1857. 

"  M.  Veron,  the  journaliste,  now  deputy  of  the  Seine, 
has  given,  in  the  '  Moniteur,'  a  very  circumstantial  ac- 
count of  this  establishment.  From  it  we  borrow  the 
following  :  — 

" '  The  girls  admitted  are  usually  wretchedly  clad  : 
on  their  entrance  they  receive  a  full  suit  of  clothes. 
Almost  all  are  pale,  thin,  weak  children,  to  whom  mel- 
ancholy and  suffering  have  imparted  an  old  and  care- 
worn expression.  But,  thanks  to  cleanliness,  to  whole- 
some and  sufficient  food,  to  a  calm  and  well-regulated 
life,  to  the  pure,  healthy  air  they  breathe,  the  natural 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  237 

hues  and  the  joyousness  of  youth  soon  reanimate  the 
little  faces ;  and  with  lithe,  invigorated  limbs  and 
happy  hearts,  these  young  creatures  join  merrily  in  the 
games  of  their  new  companions.  They  have  entered 
the  institution  old  ;  they  will  leave  it  young.' 

"  The  Empress  Eugenie  delights  in  visiting  the  insti- 
tution of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine.  This  is  natural. 
Her  Majesty  cannot  but  feel  pleasure  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  all  she  has  accomplished  by  sacrificing  a  mag- 
nificent but  idle  ornament  to  the  welfare  of  so  many 
beings  rescued  from  misery  and  ignorance.  These  four 
hundred  young  girls  will  be  so  many  animated,  happy, 
and  grateful  jewels,  constituting  for  Her  Majesty  in  the 
present,  and  for  her  memory  in  the  future,  an  ever-new 
set  of  jewels,  an  immortal  ornament,  a  truly  celestial 
talisman. 

"A  fresco  painting  represents,  in  a  hemicycle,  the 
Empress  in  her  bridal  dress,  offering  to  the  Virgin  a 
diamond  necklace  ;  young  girls  are  kneeling  around 
her  in  prayer  ;  admiration  and  fervent  faith  are  de- 
picted on  their  brows." 

A  very  large  amount  of  the  world's  capital  is 
represented  in  precious  stones,  and  ninety  per 
cent  of  that  capital  so  invested  is  in  diamonds. 
This  was  not  always  the  case.  Ancient  million- 


238  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

naires  held  their  enormous  jewelry-riches  more  in 
colored  stones  than  is  the  custom  now.  Crystal- 
lized carbon  has  risen  in  the  estimation  of  capital- 
ists, and  crystallized  clay  has  gone  down  in  the 
scale  of  value. 

If  the  diamond  be  the  hardest  known  substance 
in  the  world's  jewel-box,  the  pearl  is  by  no  means 
its  near  relation  in  that  particular.  The  daugh- 
ters of  Stilicho  slept  undisturbed  eleven  hundred 
and  eighteen  years,  with  all  their  riches  in  sound 
condition,  except  the  pearls  that  were  found  with 
their  splendid  ornaments.  The  other  decorations 
sparkled  in  the  light  as  brilliantly  as  ever;  but 
the  pearls  crumbled  into  dust,  as  their  owners 
had  done  centuries  before.  Eight  hundred  years 
before  these  ladies  lived  and  wore  pearls,  a  queen 
with  "  swarthy  cheeks  and  bold  black  eyes  "  tried 
a  beverage  which  cost,  exclusive  of  the  vinegar 
which  partly  composed  it,  the  handsome  little 
sum  of  something  over  eighty  thousand  pounds. 
Diamond  and  vinegar  would  not  have  mixed  so 
prettily. 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  239 

Pearls  are  perishable  beauties,  exquisite  in  their 
perfect  state,  but  liable  to  accident  from  the 
nature  of  their  delicate  composition.  Remote 
antiquity  chronicles  their  existence,  and  imme- 
morial potentates  eagerly  sought  for  them  to 
adorn  their  persons.  Pearl-fisheries  in  the  Per- 
sian Gulf  are  older  than  the  reign  of  Alexander ; 
and  the  Indian  Ocean,  the  Red  Sea,  and  the  Coast 
of  Coromandel  yielded  their  white  wonders  ages 
a^o.  Under  the  Ptolemies,  in  the  time  of  the 
Caliphs,  the  pearl-merchant  flourished,  grew  rich, 
and  went  to  Paradise.  To-day  the  pearl-diver 
is  grubbing  under  the  waves  that  are  lapping 
the  Sooloo  Islands,  the  coast  of  Coromandel,  and 
the  shores  of  Algiers.  In  Ceylon  he  is  busiest, 
and  you  may  find  him  from  the  first  of  February 
to  the  middle  of  April  risking  his  life  in  the 
perilous  seas.  His  boat  is  from  eight  to  ten  tons 
burden,  and  without  a  deck.  At  ten  o'clock  at 
night,  when  the  cannon  fires,  it  is  his  signal  to 
put  off  for  the  bank  opposite  Condatchy,  which 
he  will  reach  by  daylight,  if  the  weather  be  fair. 
Unless  it  is  calm,  he  cannot  follow  his  trade.  As 


240  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

soon  as  light  dawns,  he  prepares  to  descend.  His 
diving-stone,  to  keep  him  at  the  bottom,  is  got 
ready,  and,  after  offering  up  his  devotions,  he 
leaps  into  the  water.  Two  minutes  are  consid- 
ered a  long  time  to  be  submerged,  but  some 
divers  can  hold  out  four  or  five  minutes.  When 
his  strength  is  exhausted,  he  gives  a  signal  by 
pulling  the  rope,  and  is  drawn  up  with  his  bag 
of  oysters.  Appalling  dangers  compass  him  about. 
Sharks  watch  for  him  as  he  dives,  and  not  in- 
frequently he  comes  up  maimed  for  life.  It  is 
recorded  of  a  pearl-diver,  that  he  died  from  over- 
exertion  immediately  after  he  reached  land,  hav- 
ing brought  up  with  him  a  shell  that  contained 
a  pearl  of  great  size  and  beauty.  Barry  Corn- 
wall has  remembered  the  poor  fellow  in  a  song 
so  full  of  humanity,  that  I  quote  his  pearl-strung 
lyric  entire. 

"  Within  the  midnight  of  her  hair, 
Half  hidden  in  its  deepest  deeps, 
A  single,  peerless,  priceless  pearl 
(All  filmy-eyed)  forever  sleeps. 
Without  the  diamond's  sparkling  eyes, 
Th3  ruby's  blushes,  there  it  lies, 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  241 

Modest  as  the  tender  dawn, 

When  her  purple  veil 's  withdrawn, 

The  flower  of  gems,  a  lily  cold  and  pale  i 

Yet  what  doth  all  avail, 

All  its  beauty,  all  its  grace, 

All  the  honors  of  its  place  ? 

He  who  plucked  it  from  its  bed, 

In  the  far  blue  Indian  ocean, 

Lieth,  without  life  or  motion, 

In  his  earthy  dwelling,  —  dead  ! 

And  his  children,  one  by  one, 

When  they  look  upon  the  sun, 

Curse  the  toil  by  which  he  drew 

The  treasure  from  its  bed  of  blue. 

"  Gentle  Bride,  no  longer  wear, 
In  thy  night-black,  odorous  hair, 
Such  a  spoil !     It  is  not  fit 
That  a  tender  soul  should  sit 
Under  such  accursed  gem  ! 
What  need'st  thou  a  diadem, 
Thou,  within  whose  Eastern  eyes 
Thought  (a  starry  Genius)  lies, 
Thou,  whom  Beauty  has  arrayed, 
Thou,  whom  Love  and  Truth  have  made 
Beautiful,  in  whom  we  trace 
Woman's  softness,  angel's  grace, 
All  we  hope  for,  all  that  streams 
Upon  us  iii  our  haunted  dreams  ? 


242  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

"  0  sweet  Lady  !  cast  aside, 
With  a  gentle,  noble  pride, 
All  to  sin  or  pain  allied  ! 
Let  the  wild-eyed  conqueror  wear 
The  bloody  laurel  in  his  hair ! 
Let  the  black  and  snaky  vine 
Round  the  drinker's  temples  twine  ! 
Let  the  slave-begotten  gold 
Weigh  on  bosoms  hard  and  cold  ! 
But  be  THOU  forever  known 
By  thy  natural  light  alone  !  " 

One  of  the  best  judges  of  pearls  that  ever  lived, 
out  of  the  regular  trade,  was  no  less  a  person  than 
Csesar.  He  was  a  great  connoisseur,  and  could 
tell  at  once,  when  he  took  a  pearl  in  his  hand,  its 
weight  and  value.  He  gave  one  away  worth  a 
quarter  of  a  million  dollars.  Servilia,  the  mother 
of  Brutus,  was  the  lady  to  whom  he  made  the  regal 
present. 

Caligula,  not  satisfied  with  building  ships  of 
cedar  with  sterns  inlaid  with  gems,  had  a  pearl 
collar  made  for  a  favorite  horse  !  Pliny  grows 
indignant  as  he  chronicles  the  luxury  of  this 
Emperor. 

"  I  have  seen,1'  says  he,   "  Lollia  Paulina,   who 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  243 

was  the  wife  of  the  Emperor  Caligula,  —  and  this 
not  on  the  occasion  of  a  solemn  .festival  or  cere- 
mony, but  merely  at  a  supper  of  ordinary  be- 
trothals, —  I  have  seen  Lollia  Paulina  covered 
with  emeralds  and  pearls,  arranged  alternate!}7, 
so  as  to  give  each  other  additional  brilliancy,  on 
her  head,  neck,  arms,  hands,  and  girdle,  to  the 
amount  of  forty  thousand  sesterces  [£336,000  ster- 
ling] the  which  value  she  was  prepared  to  prove 
on  the  instant  by  producing  the  receipts.  And 
these  pearls  came,  not  from  the  prodigal  gener- 
osity of  an  imperial  husband,  but  from  treasures 
which  had  been  the  spoils  of  provinces.  Marcus 
Lollius,  her  grandfather,  was  dishonored  in  all  the 
East  on  account  of  the  gifts  he  had  extorted  from 
kings,  disgraced  by  Tiberius,  and  obliged  to  poison 
himself,  that  his  grand-daughter  might  exhibit  her- 
self by  the  light  of  the  lucernce  blazing  with  jewels." 

Nero  offered  to  Jupiter  Capitolinus  the  first 
trimmings  of  his  beard  in  a  magnificent  vase  en- 
riched with  the  costliest  pearls. 

Catherine  de  Medicis  and  Diane  de  Poitiers 
almost  floated  in  pearls,  their  dresses  being  pro- 


244  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

fusely  covered  with  them.  The  wedding  robe  of 
Anne  of  Cleves.was  a  rich  cloth-of-gold,  thickly 
embroidered  with  great  flowers  of  large  Orient 
pearls.  Poor  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  had  a  won- 
derful lot  of  pearls  among  her  jewels;  and  the 
sneaking  manner  in  which  Elizabeth  got  posses- 
sion of  them  we  will  leave  Miss  Strickland,  the 
biographer  of  Queens,  to  relate. 

"  If  anything  farther  than  the  letters  of  Drury  and 
Throgmorton  be  required  to  prove  the  confederacy  be- 
tween the  English  Government  and  the  Earl  of  Moray, 
it  will  only  be  necessary  to  expose  the  disgraceful  fact 
of  the  traffic  of  Queen  Mary's  costly  parure  of  pearls, 
her  own  personal  property,  which  she  had  brought  with 
her  from  France.  A  few  days  before  she  effected  her 
escape  from  Lochleven  Castle,  the  righteous  Regent 
sent  these,  with  a  choice  collection  of  her  jewels,  very 
secretly  to  London,  by  his  trusty  agent,  Sir  Nicholas 
Elphinstone,  who  undertook  to  negotiate  their  sale,  with 
the  assistance  of  Throgmorton,  to  whom  he  was  directed 
for  that  purpose.  As  these  pearls  were  considered  the 
most  magnificent  in  Europe,  Queen  Elizabeth  was 
complimented  with  the  first  offer  of  them.  '  She  saw 
them  yesterday,  May  2nd,'  writes  Bodutel  La  Forrest, 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 


the  French  ambassador  at  the  Court  of  England,  'in 
the  presence  of  the  Earls  of  Pembroke  and  Leicester, 
and  pronounced  them  to  be  of  unparalleled  beauty.' 
He  thus  describes  them  :  '  There  are  six  cordons  of 
large  pearls,  strung  as  paternosters  ;  but  there  are  five- 
and-twenty  separate  from  the  rest,  much  finer  and 
larger  than  those  which  are  strung  ;  these  are  for  the 
most  part  like  black  muscades.  They  had  not  been 
here  more  than  three  days,  when  they  were  appraised 
by  various  merchants  ;  this  Queen  wishing  to  have 
them  at  the  sum  named  by  the  jeweller,  who  could 
have  made  his  profit  by  selling  them  again.  They 
were  at  first  shown  to  three  or  four  working  jewellers 
and  lapidaries,  by  whom  they  were  estimated  at  three 
thousand  pounds  sterling  (about  ten  thousand  crowns), 
and  who  offered  to  give  that  sum  for  them.  Several 
Italian  merchants  came  after  them,  who  valued  them 
at  twelve  thousand  crowns,  which  is  the  price,  as  I  am 
told,  this  Queen  Elizabeth  will  take  them  at.  There 
is  a  Genoese  who  saw  them  after  the  others,  and  said 
they  were  worth  sixteen  thousand  crowns  ;  but  I  think 
they  will  allow  her  to  have  them  for  twelve  thousand.' 
'  In  the  mean  time/  continues  he,  in  his  letter  to  Cath- 
erine of  Medicis,  '  I  have  not  delayed  giving  your 
Majesty  timely  notice  of  what  was  going  on,  though  I 


21:6  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

doubt  she  will  not  allow  them  to  escape  her.  The  rest 
of  the  jewels  are  not  near  so  valuable  as  the  pearls. 
The  only  thing  I  have  heard  particularly  described  is 
a  piece  of  unicorn  richly  carved  arid  decorated.'  Mary's 
royal  mother-in-law  of  France,  no  whit  more  scrupu- 
lous than  her  good  cousin  of  England,  was  eager  to 
compete  with  the  latter  for  the  purchase  of  the  pearls, 
knowing  that  they  were  worth  nearly  double  the  sum 
at  which  they  had  been  valued  in  London.  Some  of 
them  she  had  herself  presented  to  Mary,  and  especially 
wished  to  recover ;  but  the  ambassador  wrote  to  her  in 
reply,  that '  he  had  found  it  impossible  to  accomplish 
her  desire  of  obtaining  the  Queen  of  Scots'  pearls,  for, 
as  he  had  told  her  from  the  first,  they  were  intended 
for  the  gratification  of  the  Queen  of  England,  who  had 
been  allowed  to  purchase  them  at  her  own  price,  and 
they  were  now  in  her  hands/ 

"Inadequate  though  the  sum  for  which  her  pearls 
were  sold  was  to  their  real  value,  it  assisted  to  turn  the 
scale  against  their  real  owner. 

"  In  one  of  her  letters  to  Elizabeth,  supplicating  her 
to  procure  some  amelioration  of  the  rigorous  confine- 
ment of  her  captive  friends,  Mary  alludes  to  her  stolen 
jewels.  *  I  beg  also,'  says  she,  *  that  you  will  prohibit 
the  sale  of  the  rest  of  my  jewels,  which  the  rebels  have 
ordered  in  their  Parliament,  for  you  have  promised 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  247 

that  nothing  should  be  done  in  it  to  my  prejudice.  I 
should  be  very  glad,  if  they  were  in  safer  custody,  for 
they  are  not  meat  proper  for  traitors.  Between  you 
and  me  it  would  make  little  difference,  and  I  should 
be  rejoiced,  if  any  of  them  happened  to  be  to  your 
taste,  that  you  would  accept  them  from  me  as  offerings 
of  my  good-will.' 

"  From  this  frank  offer  it  is  apparent  that  Mary  was 
not  aware  of  the  base  part  Elizabeth  had  acted,  in  pur- 
chasing her  magnificent  parure  of  pearls  of  Moray  for 
a  third  part  of  their  value." 

One  of  the  most  famous  pearls  yet-  discovered 
(there  may  be  shells  down  below  that  hide  a  finer 
specimen)  is  the  beautiful  Peregrina.  It  was 
fished  up  by  a  little  negro  lioy  in  1560,  who 
obtained  his  liberty  by  opening  an  oyster.  The 
modest  bivalve  was  so  small  that  the  boy  in  dis- 
gust was  about  to  pitch  it  back  into  the  sea. 
But  be  thought  better  of  his  rash  determination, 
pulled  the  shells  asunder,  and,  lo !  the  rarest  of 
priceless  pearls!  [Moral.  Do  not  despise  little 
oysters.]  La  Peregrina  is  shaped  like  a  pear, 
and  is  of  the  size  of  a  pigeon's  egg.  It  was  pre- 
sented to  Philip  II.  by  the  finder's  master,  and 


248  DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS. 

is  still  in  Spain.  No  sum  has  ever  determined 
its  value.  The  King's  jeweller  named  five  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars,  but  that  paltry  amount 
was  scouted  as  ridiculously  small. 

There  is  a  Rabbinical  story  which  aptly  shows 
the  high  estimate  of  pearls  in  early  ages,  only 
one  object  in  nature  being  held  worthy  to  be 
placed  above  them. 

"  On  approaching  Egypt,  Abraham  locked  Sarah  in 
a  chest,  that  none  might  behold  her  dangerous  beauty. 
But  when  he  was  come  to  the  place  of  paying  custom, 
the  collectors  said,  '  Pay  us  the  custom ' ;  and  he  said, 
'I  will  pay  the  custom.'  They  said  to  him,  'Thou 
carriest  clothes ' ;  and  he  said,  '  I  will  pay  for  clothes/ 
Then  they  said  to  him,  '  Thou  carriest  gold ' ;  and  he 
answered  them,  'I  will  pay  for  my  gold.'  On  this 
they  further  said  to  him,  'Surely  thou  bearest  the 
finest  silk':  he  replied,  'I  will  pay  custom  for  the 
finest  silk.'  Then  said  they,  '  Surely  it  must  be  pearls 
that  thou  takest  with  thee';  and  he  only  answered, 
1 1  will  pay  for  pearls.'  Seeing  that  they  could  name 
nothing  of  value  for  which  the  patriarch  was  not  will- 
ing to  pay  custom,  they  said,  '  It  cannot  be  but  thou 
open  the  box,  and  let  us  see  what  is  within.'  So  they 


DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS.  249 

opened  the  box,  and  the  whole  land  of  Egypt  was  illu- 
mined by  the  lustre  of  Sarah's  beauty,  far  exceeding 
even  that  of  pearls." 

Shakespeare,  who  loved  all  things  beautiful, 
and  embalmed  them  so  that  their  lustre  could 
lose  nothing  at  his  hands,  was  never  tired  of  in- 
troducing the  diamond  and  the  pearl.  They  were 
his  favorite  ornaments;  and  I  intended  to  point 
out  some  of  the  splendid  passages  in  which  he 
has  used  them,  but  have  room  for  only  one 
of  those  priceless  sentences  in  which  he  has  set 
the  diamond  and  the  pearl  as  they  were  never  set 
before.  No  kingly  diadem  can  boast  such  jewels 
as  glow  along  these  lines  from  "King  Lear"  :  — 

"You  have  seen 

Sunshine  and  rain  at  once  :  her  smiles  and  tears 
Were  like  a  better  day  :  those  happy  smiles 
That  played  on  her  ripe  lip  seem'd  not  to  know 
What  guests  were  in  her  eyes;  which  parted  thence, 
As  pearls  from  diamonds  dropped." 


THE  AUTHOE  OP  "PAUL  AND  VIEGINIA," 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA." 


HERE  are  certain  books  that  are  read  to 
be  laid  aside,  and  there  are  certain  other 
books  that  are  laid  aside  to  be  read. 
No  one  who  reads  at  all  would  care  to  die  with- 
out having  perused  "The  Vicar  of  Wakefield" 
and  "  Paul  and  Virginia."  These  two  stories  are 
sometimes  bound  up  together  for  the  immediate 
use  of  young  persons,  who  are  sure  to  be  told 
that  they  cannot  afford  to  remain  long  in  the 
world  and  be  ignorant  of  the  people  who  are  na- 
tive to  this  brace  of  attractive  volumes.  My  first 
pilgrimage  in  London  was  to  the  rooms  which 
Goldsmith  had  occupied,  for  I  could  not  remem- 
ber the  time  when  "  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  "  was 


254     THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA." 

not  a  delight  to  me ;  and  landing  at  Havre  on  my 
earliest  visit  to  Europe,  I  had  not  been  on  shore  a 
single  hour  before  seeking  out  the  house  in  which 
the  author  of  "  Paul  and  Virginia "  was  born,  in 
the  year  1737.  I  found  the  place  without  diffi- 
culty, having  obtained  direction  to  the  locality 
from  the  very  first  person  I  appealed  to  for  it  in 
the  street.  Early  in  life  I  adopted  the  plan  when 
in  a  strange  place,  either  at  home  or  abroad,  of 
appealing  for  information  as  to  street  or  person 
to  an  intelligent-looking  female  rather  than  to  one 
of  my  own  sex,  and  for  .this  reason :  Men  are 
apt  to  be  hurrying  along,  bent  solely  on  their 
own  affairs,  and  do  not  care  to  be  stopped  by  a 
stranger  and  questioned  as  to  matters  unimpor- 
tant perhaps  to  themselves.  Besides,  your  aver- 
age well-dressed  man  on  the  sidewalk  is  not  half 
so  apt  to  be  possessed  of  the  requisite  knowledge 
as  ladies  who  are  moving  over  the  same  pave- 
ment. Male  pedestrians,  nine  out  of  ten,  are 
superficial,  ill-mannered,  and  indifferent,  or  not  in 
the  mood  for  conferring  favor  of  information  on 
an  inquiring  stranger.  Women,  on  the  contrary, 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA,"    255 

are  habitually  more  sympathetic  and  inclined  to 
oblige.  They  are  certainly,  as  a  constitutional 
characteristic,  much  more  graciously  mannered 
than  men,  and  I  am  yet  to  receive  the  first  gruff 
reply  from  a  lady  in  the  street  when  I  have 
requested  answer  to  any  question  necessary  for 
my  convenience  to  be  solved.  The  mode  of 
bestowing  a  kindness  is  often  of  more  value  than 
the  thing  conferred.  The -art  of  being  gracious 
is,  to  put  it  mildly,  not  exclusively  possessed  by 
those  who  go  about  the  streets  inside  of  hats, 
coats,  and  trousers.  A  man  appealed  to  in  the 
street  tells  you  he  does  not  know  with  a  short, 
sharp  report,  like  an  unsympathetic  revolver ;  a 
woman,  not  able  to  answer  your  question,  does  so 
with  an  apologetic  smile  and  a  beneficent  tone, 
which  linger  in  your  memory  sometimes  like  Ti- 
tian's portraits,  which  Hazlitt  says  are  all  sus- 
tained by  sentiment,  and  look  as  if  the  persons 
whom  he  painted  sat  to  music. 

Foreigners  perhaps  have  more  sympathy  for 
strangers  who  need  information  than  either  Eng- 
lish or  Americans,  and  the  instructed  lady  who 


256     THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA." 

showed  me  the  nearest  way  to  Number  47,  Rue 
de  la  Corderie,  in  Havre,  seemed  pleased  that 
she  could  render  me  so  gracious  a  service.  Ti- 
tania's  exhortatory  line  to  the  elves  in  the  case 
of  Nick  Bottom,  "Be  kind  and  courteous  to 
this  gentleman,"  could  not  have  been  better  car- 
ried out.  The  good  woman  insisted  upon  pro- 
ceeding with  me  to  the  quaint  old  house,  although 
it  was  evidently  not  in  the  direction  she  was 
going  when  I  met  her;  but  the  service  was  per- 
formed so  kindly  I  could  not  offer  a  word  of  pro- 
test. Leading  me  along  the  quays  we  threaded 
our  way  through  the  bustling  streets,  piled  up 
•with  cotton -bales,  sugar -hogsheads,  and  other 
commodities,  all  reminding  me  of  the  tropical 
countries  which  had  made  Havre  their  port  of 
trade.  Unwonted  cries  of  parrots  and  macaws 
filled  the  air,  and  their  sparkling  plumage  made 
the  streets  resplendent  with  color.  At  length  we 
came  to  the  house  we  were  in  search  of. 

Entering  the  little  shop  on  the  lower  floor,  the 
master  of  it  came  smiling  toward  me  and  politely 
inquired  what  he  could  do  to  serve  me. 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA."    257 

"  Will  Monsieur  please  to  be  seated  ?  " 

"  Merci !  but  I  have  no  business,"  was  my  reply. 

The  little  perruquier  looked  disappointed,  and 
began  to  display  his  wares,  consisting  of  odorous 
soap,  combs,  brushes,  and  other  useful  articles  for 
the  toilet. 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  entering  the  house 
in  which  the  famous  author  of  '  Paul  and  Virginia' 
was  born,  and  of  paying,  as  an  American,  the 
homage  of  my  admiration  for  his  genius,"  said  I. 

"  Ah  !  he  was  indeed  a  grand  author,  and  I  am 
proud  to  do  business  on  the  very  spot  where  he 
was  born,"  replied  the  man. 

The  barber  and  I  then  sat  down  together  near 
his  door,  for  it  was  an  hour  of  the  day  when  no 
customers  were  stirring,  and  we  then  and  there 
compared  notes  as  to  the  great  merits  of  St.  Pierre, 
whose  works  were  familiar  as  the  Prayer-Book  to 
my  new  friend.  Indeed,  he  had  a  small  copy  of 
"  The  Indian  Cottage  "  on  his  shelf  of  perfumes, 
and  he  handed  it  down  for  my  inspection. 

This,  then,  was  the  birthplace  of  a  man  who  had 
given  so  much  pleasure  in  the  world,  the  starting- 


258     THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA." 

point  of  a  being  destined  to  confer  so  lasting  a 
benefit  on  mankind.  The  little  barber  being  called 
away  to  wait  upon  a  pompous  and  well-powdered 
gentleman  who  desired  to  have  his  wig  put  in 
"  grand  style  "  for  the  fete  to  be  held  next  day  at 
Ingouville,  I  had  the  whole  doorway  to  myself. 
Many  a  time  St.  Pierre,  when  a  youth,  must  have 
passed  over  this  threshold.  A  man  of  acute  sensi- 
bility all  his  life,  in  this  narrow  street  he  must 
have  suffered  some  of  the  pangs  that  wait  upon  a 
temperament  like  his.  I  remember  he  says  some- 
where in  his  works  that  a  single  thorn  could  give 
him  greater  pain  than  a  hundred  roses  confer  pleas- 
ure ;  and  I  also  recalled  how  deeply  he  was  wounded 
by  envious  and  malicious  contemporaries,  and  how 
frequently  disease  lay  in  wait  for  him ;  how  at  one 
time  he  was  seized  with  a  strange  malady,  flashes 
of  fire  resembling  lightning  dancing  before  his  eyes, 
every  object  appearing  double  and  moving,  —  like 
(Edipus,  seeing  two  suns  in  heaven.  For  years  he 
was  a  man  "  perplexed  in  the  extreme,"  and  what 
he  endured  people  born  without  nerves  can  never 
comprehend. 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA."    259 

The  complete  works  of  St.  Pierre  fill  twelve  oc- 
tavo volumes  ;  but  his  fame  will  always  rest  on  that 
tender  little  idyl,  so  full  of  romantic  interest,  pub- 
lished in  1788,  which  was  written,  in  a  garret  on  the 
Rue  St.  Etienne-du-Mont  in  Paris.  A  touching  in- 
cident connected  with  the  manuscript  of  "Paul  and 
Virginia"  is  recorded  by  L.  Aime  Martin.  Ma- 
dame Necker  invited  St.  Pierre  to  bring  his  new 
story  into  her  salon,  and  read  it  before  publication 
to  a  company  of  distinguished  and  enlightened  au- 
ditors. She  promised  that  the  judges  she  would 
convene  to  hear  him  were  among  those  she  esteemed 
the  most  worthy.  Monsieur  Necker  himself,  as  a 
distinguished  favor,  would  be  at  home  on  the  occa- 
sion. Buffon,  the  Abbe  Galiani,  Monsieur  and  Ma- 
dame Germain,  were  among  the  tribunal  when  St. 
Pierre  appeared  and  sat  down  with  the  manuscript 
of  "  Paul  and  Virginia"  open  before  him.  At  first 
he  was  heard  in  profound  silence  :  he  went  on,  and 
the  attention  grew  languid,  the  august  assembly 
began  to  whisper,  to  yawn,  and  then  listen  no  longer. 
Monsieur  de  Buffon  pulled  out  his  watch  and  called 
for  his  horses ;  those  sitting  near  the  door  noise- 


260     THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA." 


les-sly  slipped  out;  one  of  the  company  was  seen  in 
profound  slumber;  some  of  the  ladies  wept,  but 
Monsieur  Necker  jeered  at  them,  and  they,  ashamed 
of  their  tears,  dared  not  confess  how  much  inter' 
ested  they  had  been.  AVhen  the  reading  was 
finished,  not  one  word  of  praise  followed  it.  Ma- 
dame Xecker  criticised  the  conversations  in  the 
book,  and  spoke  of  the  tedious  and  commonplace 
action  in  the  story.  A  shower  of  iced  water 
seemed  to  fall  on  poor  St.  Pierre,  who  retired  from 
the  room  in  a  state  of  overwhelming  depression. 
He  felt  as  if  a  sentence  of  death  had  been  pro- 
nounced on  his  story,  and  that  "  Paul  and  Vir- 
ginia" was  unworthy  to  appear  before  the  public 
eye. 

But  a  man  of  genius  —  the  painter,  Joseph 
Vernet,  who  had  not  been  present  at  the  reading 
at  Madame  Necker's  —  dropped  in  one  morning 
on  St.  Pierre  in  his  garret,  and  revived  his  almost 
sinking  courage.  "Perhaps  Monsieur  will  read 
his  new  story  to  his  friend  Vernet  1 "  So  the  au- 
thor took  up  his  manuscript,  which  since  the  fatal 
day  had  been  cast  aside,  and  began  to  read.  As 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA."    261 

Vernet  listened  the  charm  fell  upon  him,  and  at 
every  page  he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight. 
Soon  he  ceased  to  praise ;  he  only  wept.  When 
St.  Pierre  reached  that  part  of  the  book  which 
Madame  Necker  had  found  so  much  fault  with, 
the  author  proposed  to  omit  that  portion  of  the 
narrative  ;  but  Vernet  would  not  consent  to  omit 
anything.  When  the  book  was  finished,  Vernet 
threw  his  arms  about  St.  Pierre,  and  told  him  he 
had  produced  a  chef-d'oeuvre.  "My  friend,"  ex- 
claimed Vernet,  "you  are  a  great  painter,  and  I 
dare  to  promise  you  a  splendid  reputation!"  Fifty 
editions,  that  year  "  Paul  and  Virginia  "  was  pub- 
lished, attested  the  wise  judgment  of  Joseph  Ver- 
net. 

Another  striking  incident  in  the  career  of  the 
author  was  his  appearance,  in  the  year  1798,  at  a 
meeting  of  the  Institute.  He  had  been  charged 
to  make  a  report  upon  the  prize  question,  "  What 
institutions  are  the  most  proper  to  form  a  basis 
for  public  morals'?"  A  strong  sentiment  of  relig- 
ion was  a  marked  characteristic  in  the  life  of  St. 
Pierre,  and  he  was  anxious  to  bring  men  back  to 


262     THE  AUTHOR  OF  " PAUL  AND   VIRGINIA.'1'' 

views  of  justice  and  consolation.  On  this  occasion 
he  seemed  inspired,  and  his  essay  breathed  out  all 
the  sweetness  of  the  gospel.  His  colleagues  at 
that  time  were  a  hand  of  mercenary  scholars,  who 
were  only  anxious  to  retrench  divinity  to  their 
own  system  of  revolutionary  action.  It  was  in 
the  presence  of  such  an  auditory  that  St.  Pierre 
rose  to  read  his  report,  and  at  the  very  first  enun- 
ciation of  his  religious  principles  a  cry  of  fury  was 
directed  against  him  from  every  part  of  the  hall. 
Some  jesting  voices  asked  him  when  he  had  seen 
God,  and  what  was  his  form.  Derision  and  con- 
tempt were  followed  by  outrage.  Some  insulted 
his  age,  charging  him  with  dotage  and  supersti- 
tion ;  some  threatened  to  expel  him  from  the  As- 
sembly, where  he  had  made  himself  ridiculous; 
and  several  blaspheming  members  challenged  him 
to  a  duel,  in  order  to  prove  by  crossing  of  weapons 
that  there  was  no  God.  The  ideologist,  Cabanis, 
stood  over  him  in  a  violent  rage,  crying  out,  "  I 
swear  there  is  no  God,  and  I  demand  that  his 
name  never  again  be  pronounced  within  these 
walls  !  "  St.  Pierre  would  hear  no  more,  and,  as 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA."    263 

he  left  the  hall,  turned  calmly  to  Cabanis  and  said, 
"Your  master,  Mirabeau,  would  have  blushed  at 
the  words  you  have  just  uttered."  Hastening  to 
the  library,  St.  Pierre  committed  to  paper  some 
thoughts  called  up  by  the  scene  he  had  just  wit- 
nessed. It  is  said  to  be  a  compound  of  sweetness 
and  strength,  and  a  model  of  the  most  lofty  elo- 
quence. Prayer,  conciliation,  reconciliation,  were 
his  only  replies  to  the  insults  that  had  been 
heaped  upon  him.  He  would  not  wrong  himself 
by  trying  to  prove  that  there  was  a  God,  but  he 
recalled  the  ephemeral  laws  under  which  the  peo- 
ple were  then  living,  and  compared  them  with  the 
eternal  laws  of  the  Almighty.  This  document  is 
said  to  be  almost  superior  to  anything  else  St. 
Pierre  has  ever  written. 

St.  Pierre  was  an  enthusiast  for  Nature,  and  we 
can  never  be  grateful  enough  to  the  men  and 
women  who,  like  him,  have  written  books  to  make 
us  more  in  love  with  her  beauties  and  harmonies, 
who  have  themselves  been  transported  with  the 
glories  of  her  divine  works,  —  those  careful  ob- 
servers and  students  who  have  the  power  to 


204      THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA." 

bring,  even  in  winter  months,  the  robins  singing 
again  about  our  doors,  as  in  the  summer  time. 
For  my  own  part,  I  can  never  be  sufficiently 
thankful  for  the  writings  of  Wordsworth,  Thom- 
son, Cowper,  Bryant,  Thorean,  Kingsley,  and 
those  other  high-priests  of  Nature,  who  have 
spoken  to  us,  either  in  their  loftiest  or  simplest 
moods,  of  what  is  so  elevating  and  instructive. 
It  is  a  good  thing  to  be  alive  while  John  Bur- 
roughs is  bringing  out,  at  pleasant  intervals,  his 
delightful  volumes,  so  full  of  grace  and  accurate 
suggestion ;  and  I  always  wish  to  take  off  my  hat 
in  homage,  when  I  face  him  in  the  street,  to 
George  B.  Emerson  for  those  two  noble  volumes 
•which  can  make  the  forests  of  Massachusetts  our 
neighbors  and  companions  every  day  in  the  year. 
St.  Pierre's  "Studies  of  Nature"  is  full  of  in- 
terest, discursive  though  it  is  apt  to  be  in  many 
of  its  chapters.  In  one  of  the  passages  of  this 
work  he  expressed  a  wish  that  he  might  find  a 
suitable  companion  for  life.  Many  letters  making 
overtures  for  the  situation  poured  in  upon  him. 
He  ^finally  married  a  beautiful  and  accomplished 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND   VIRGINIA."     265 

daughter  of  the  celebrated  printer  Didot,  and  two 
of  their  children  were  named  Paul  and  Virginia. 
Some  time  after  her  death  he  espoused  in  second 
marriage  a  young  girl  of  noble  family  named  De 
Pellepore,  with  whom  he  .lived  in  conjugal  felicity 
to  the  end  of  his  career.  The  disparity  of  their 
ages  was  no  bar  to  their  happiness  ;  and  the  lady 
is  described  by  those  who  knew  her  as  a  model 
wife  and  most  careful  guardian  of  his  children. 

St.  Pierre  died  in  the  month  of  January,  1814, 
at  the  age  of  seventy-seven.  His  last  years  were 
filled  with  tranquillity,  and  were  as  happy  as  his 
youthful  ones  had  been  sad  and  restless.  He  was 
a  beautiful  old  man  in  personal  appearance,  and 
his  long  silver  hair,  flowing  carelessly  over  his 
well-knit  shoulders,  gave  him  prominence,  as  an 
individual,  even  in  the  crowded  streets  of  Paris. 
The  common  people  knew  and  loved  his  venerable 
form,  and  as  they  passed  saluted  with  reverence 
the  author  of  "  Paul  and  Virginia." 

I  have  in  my  possession  an  autograph  letter 
written  by  him  to  Rembrandt  Peale  in  the  year 
1809.  Peale,  when  in  France,  painted  a  portrait 


266     THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA." 

of  the  author,  and  when  the  picture  was  finished 
asked  St.  Pierre  to  give  him  in  his  own  writing  a 
brief  memoir  of  his  life.  This  request  the  vener- 
able old  man  complied  with  in  the  form  of  an 
epistle,  and  I  here  print  from  the  original  the 
brief  biography,  in  all  its  imperfect  English;  for 
the  epistle  was  written^  not  in  French,  but  in  the 
language  Rembrandt  Peale  was  born  to  speak  and 
read,  —  a  compliment  to  the  artist  not  to  be  over- 
looked. 

"  AMIABLE  PHILADELPHE,  THE  REMBRANDT  OF  AMERICA:— 
"  You  attach  too  much  importance  to  my  mem- 
ory. Your  father  has  written  to  thank  me  for 
having  sitten  to  you.  On  your  part  you  wish  to 
add  to  the  immortality  which  your  pencil  has 
given  me  in  the  New  World,  some  notice  of  my 
life  in  the  Old  —  doubtless  to  make  compensation. 
And  to  give  more  weight  to  your  request,  it  is 
made  thro'  your  Consul-general,  Mr.  Warden.  I 
shall  endeavor  to  satisfy  you  in  a  few  words. 

"I  was  born  in  1737  at  Havre  de  Grace  en 
Normandy.  The  eldest  of  3  brothers  and  2 
sisters  (from  whom  there  remains  only  a  little 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA."    267 

nephew,)  my  parents  gave  me  what  is  called  in 
Europe,  a  good  Education  —  at  12  years,  disgusted 
with  study,  and  profiting  by  the  friendship  of  an 
Uncle  who  Commanded  a  Vessel  of  Commerce,  I 
made  a  Voyage  to  Martinique,  but  returned  still 
more  discontented  with  my  relation,  the  sea,  and 
the  Island,  where  I  had  nearly  died  with  the  Yel- 
low fever,  than  I  had  been  with  my  Pedagogue 
and  his  College. 

"  On  my  return  I  recommenced  my  studies ;  my 
father  sending  me  successively  to  Gisors,  and  to 
Rouen  with  the  Jesuits,  where  I  acquired  a  taste 
for  letters,  which  I  completed  at  the  University 
of  Caen. 

"There  yet  was  wanting  some  business  which 
should  insure  me  a  fortune  for  the  future  ;  I  was 
sent  to  Paris  to  the  school  of  Bridges  and  Cause- 
ways, where  I  learnt  to  draw  plans  and  the  Math- 
ematics,— from  there  I  entered  into  a  Corps  of  En- 
gineers of  Camps  and  Armies  —  I  formed  a  Com- 
pany and  the  year  following  was  sent  to  Malta, 
then  threatened  with  Invasion  by  the  Turks.  The 
Turks  came  not,  but  I  had  a  considerable  quarrel 


268     THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PATL  A XI)   V/RGIXfA." 

with  the  Engineers  in  Ordinary,  in  consequence  of 
not  being  of  their  Corps.  It  did  me  honor,  but  I 
lost  my  place. 

"  I  resolved  then  to  pass  into  foreign  service  — 
sold  the  little  I  had  and  embarked  for  Holland 
with  the  intention  of  passing  into  Portugal,  on  the 
eve  of  a  War  with  Spain.  But  General  Piquebourg, 
who  was  to  command  the  Portuguese  troops,  had 
set  off  3  days  before.  A  new  war  broke  out  in 
the  North,  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  Peter  the  3, 
wished  to  possess  Holstein  and  was  to  begin  by 
attacking  Lubeck.  That  city  was  commanded  by 
one  of  my  compatriots,  the  Chevalier  de  Chasot  — 
I  offered  him  my  service  as  engineer,  and  I  re- 
mained with  him  2  months,  waiting  from  day  to 
day  the  arrival  of  the  Russians,  when  we  learned 
that  their  Emperor  was  dethroned.  His  wife, 
Catharine  2,  desirous  of  restoring  the  liberal  Arts, 
which  her  husband  hated,  had  offered  to  Mr.  To- 
relli,  Father-in-law  of  the  Chv  de  Chasot,  to  be 
Director  of  the  Academy  of  Painting  at  St.  Peters- 
burg. I  resolved  to  accompany  him  —  We  em- 
barked for  Cronstad  the  1st  of  Sept.  and  arrived 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA."     269 

at  St.  Petersburg  near  the  end  of  the  month. 
There  we  learnt  that  the  Empress  was  at  Moscow, 
which  rendered  my  letters  of  recommendation 
useless,  untill  the  month  of  January,  when  I  made 
that  Journey  —  The  Grand  Master  of  Artillery 
received  me  well  and  I  entered  as  Lieutenant 
Engineer  in  the  Corps  of  Genius  ;  I  should  prob- 
ably have  finished  my  days  in  that  country,  if 
winters  of  6  months  duration,  and  manners  not  less 
rude,  had  not  injured  my  health  ;  so  that,  after  a 
year  and  a  half  of  service,  I  took  leave.  I  returned 
to  France  by  the  way  of  Poland,  which  country 
being  then  divided  by  civil  wars,  I  was  desirous 
of  doing  something  for  the  advantage  of  my  Coun- 
try, and  therefore  joined  the  party  protected  by 
France  and  commanded  by  Prince  Rdzivil,  and 
was  made  Prisoner  by  the  Russian  party  whose 
service  I  had  just  quitted  —  I  was  happy  to  pro- 
cure his  esteem  even  in  my  Prison  —  after  9  days 
I  was  released  and  permitted  to  return  to  France 
or  to  reside  in  Varsovie  —  Here  I  passed  3  months 
during  the  (fetes)  festivals  and  thence  took  my 
route  by  Dresden,  situated  in  a  charming  Country, 


270      THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND   VIRGINIA." 

but  the  half  of  whose  houses  were  prostrate  by  a 
series  of  Bombardments  by  the  King  of  Prussia. 
Their  situation  could  be  relieved  only  by  the 
strictest  economy,  and  having  reformed  the  greater 
part  of  the  Army,  there  were  no  places  to  be  ob- 
tained. From  Dresden  I  went  to  Berlin,  curious 
to  compare  the  voluptuous  Saxons  with  the  war- 
like Prussians  —  Berlin,  and  especially  Potsdam, 
appeared  to  me  like  magnificent  Barracks.  I  saw 
nothing  in  the  Streets  but  Soldiers,  and  Priests  at 
the  "Windows.  The  King  offered  me  a  place  but 
I  thanked  him,  the  compensation  which  was  at- 
tached to  the  office  of  Engineer  did  not  afford 
wherewith  to  live  on.  At  last  I  visited  Vienna, 
but  the  pride  of  its  inhabitants  and  especially  of 
its  nobility  determined  me  to  depart  almost  as 
soon  as  I  had  arrived.  I  returned  to  Paris  where 
I  found  an  opportunity  of  embarking  for  the  Isle 
of  France.  It  was  intended  to  establish  a  French 
Colony  at  Madegascar.  I  was  named  Engineer  of 
Fort  Dauphin  —  but  happily  I  was  detained  at 
the  Isle  of  France  by  disunion  among  the  Chiefs. 
The  one  intended  for  Madagascar  was  recalled  at 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA."    271 

the  end  of  some  months,  having  lost  almost  all  his 
men  by  a  series  of  intemperance  in  an  unknown 
Climate. 

"I  remained  2  years  on  the  Isle  of  France 
much  occupied  with  the  duties  of  my  service — I 
should  have  been  happy  there  but  all  was  in  com- 
bustion —  the  intendant  and  the  governor,  the 
inhabitants  and  the  military,  the  private  persecu- 
tions of  the  Engineers  in  Ordinary,  who  in  me  be- 
held an  officer  not  of  their  Corps,  my  small  pay 
as  Captain,  received  in  paper  money,  which  lost 
100  per  cent;  and  more  than  I  can  describe 
the  deplorable  condition  of  the  Unhappy  Blacks, 
the  continual  prospect  of  the  hardships  of  their 
race,  threw  me  into  a  profound  melancholy.  I 
solicited  my  return  to  France  and  obtained  it.  I 
depended  on  the  credit  of  an  Ambassador  by  whom 
I  was  sent  to  that  island  —  he  had  promised  to 
attach  me  to  his  fortunes — I  sent  him  some  pre- 
cious curiosities  acquired  at  my  own  expense  and 
from  the  generosity  of  some  friends ;  which  he 
accepted  and  offered  me  nothing  more  than  an 
opportunity  of  returning  as  I  went. 


272     THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA." 

"  I  now  resolved  no  longer  to  depend  on  others. 
I  was  satisfied  that  Providence  reigned  over  all  Na- 
ture, and  that  Mankind  shared  in  the  general  con- 
cern, notwithstanding  their  Disorders.  I  therefore 
determined  to  dig  my  own  land  for  water,  and  not 
depend  on  my  Neighbors.  I  again  took  up  my 
Pen  altho'  I  had  already  made  an  unsuccessful 
effort.  On  my  return  from  my  Journeys  in  the 
North,  I  had  written  a  large  Memoir  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Holland,  Prussia,  Poland,  and  Russia, 
which  I  had  overrun,  and  sent  it  to  the  Minister 
of  foreign  affairs,  but  it  produced  no  effect  —  I, 
however,  predicted  the  partition  of  Poland  by  the 
3  neighbouring  powders.  The  next  time  I  resolved 
to  make  the  public  my  judges — I  wrote  my  voy- 
age to  the  Isle  of  France  and  printed  it  without 
my  name.  It  procured  me  some  praises  from  the 
journalists,  but  it  made  me  enemies  at  Versailles 
—  they  could  not  pardon  my  having  published  the 
disorders  of  the  Colony  and  deploring  the  fate  of 
the  unhappy  blacks. 

"  I  was  not  discouraged  —  I  extended  my  views 
and  at  the  end  of  some  years  retreat,  published 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA."    273 

the  3  first  volumes  of  my  studies  of  Nature  with 
my  name  and  my  surnames.  I  there  attacked  all 
kinds  of  errors  and  abuses  and  I  foretold  an  ap- 
proaching Revolution  if  the  remedy  for  them  was 
not  hastened.  This  Work  had  the  best  success, 
passing  thro'  5  successive  Editions,  before  which 
time  I  had  added  two  other  volumes.  This  Work 
made  my  circumstances  easy,  and  but  for  false 
copies,  would  have  made  my  fortune.  During 
the  first  Editions,  I  received  several  Pensions  from 
the  Court  without  having  solicited  them  —  Louis 
16  himself  named  me  Intendant  of  the  Garden  of 
Plants  and  the  Museum  of  Natural  History.  I 
married  and  had  several  children. 

"  I  began  to  be  happy  when  the  Revolution, 
which  I  predicted,  arrived.  I  lost  my  place, 
my  pensions,  and  almost  all  my  means. 

"Finally  the  star  of  our  illustrious  Emperor, 
Bonaparte,  has  dissipated  all  those  clouds.  He 
has  rebuilt  part  of  my  fortune  by  several  Pen- 
sions, to  which  he  added  the  Cross  of  honour. 
His  brother  Joseph,  King  of  Spain,  put  the  finish 
to  it  by  a  pension  of  6  thousand  Francs.  I  owe 


274     THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA." 

these  unsolicited  favours  entirely  to  the  natural 
beneficence  of  these  two  Princes. 

"  I  am  equally  happy  on  the  side  of  Nature.  I 
have  two  amiable  children ;  my  daughtor  Virginie 
aged  14  years  educated  at  Ecouen  by  order  of  the 
Emperor  —  and  my  son  Paul,  12  years  old,  who 
studies  in  my  neighbourhood.  I  early  lost  their 
mother,  but  I  found  in  a  second  wife,  a  rare 
woman  who  has  raised  them  from  infancy  and  who 
takes  care  of  my  old  age  with  equal  affection.  I 
am  72  years  old  and  enjoy  health  without  Infirm- 
ity. Philosophy  and  the  Muses  have  always  their 
charms  for  me. 

"  Two  years  ago,  I  published  a  Drama  on  the 
death  of  Socrates,  to  which  I  added  several  small 
pieces  —  at  present  I  am  employed  on  a  long  work 
which  I  began  many  years  since  —  providence 
having  favoured  me  with  every  means.  I  have  a 
commodious  and  agreeable  Hermitage,  7  leagues 
from  Paris  on  the  borders  of  the  Oise.  I  there 
spend,  in  perfect  liberty,  with  a  part  of  my  family, 
the  half  of  every  mouth  in  fine  weather.  Thus 
my  vessel,  so  long  beat  about  by  the  tempests, 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA."    275 

proceeds  in  peace,  with  favourable  winds  towards 
the  port  of  life.  Before  the  anchor  must  be 
thrown  forever,  I  try  to  crown  the  Stern  with 
some  fresh  flowers. 

"  0  Wise  Americans,  I  have  often  wished  I  could 
have  happily  cultivated  a  little  corner  of  your  vast 
Forests  and  should  have  been  doubtless  unknown 
to  you  —  But  if  I  have,  in  my  rambles  thro'  the 
World,  merited  the  monument  of  Friendship  which 
you  have  erected  to  me  in  your  Gallery,  I  shall 
bless  all  the  evils  I  have  suffered. 

"Accept  the  sentiments  of  my  Gratitude. 

"JACQUES  HENRI  BERNARDIN  DE  SAINT  PIERRE. 
«'  PARIS,  the  28  August,  1809." 


IF  I  WEKE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 


IF  I  WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 

A  PLAIN  TALK   WITH   MY  NEPHEWS. 


ET  me  tell  yon,  my  dear  lads,  some  of 
the  things  I  would  do  if  I  were  a  boy 
again,  —  some  of  the  too-ofteii  neglected 
acts  I  would  strive  to  accomplish  if  it  were  in  my 
power  to  begin  all  over  anew. 

This  paper  was  written  expressly  for  you  young 
fellows  who  are  beginning  to  think  for  yourselves, 
and  are  not  averse  to  hearing  what  an  old  boy, 
who  loves  you,  has  to  say  to  his  younger  fellow- 
students. 

When  we  are  no  longer  young  we  look  back  and 
see  where  we  might  have  done  better  and  learned 
more,  and  the  things  we  have  neglected  rise  up 


280  IF  I  WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 

and  mortify  us  every  day  of  our  lives.  May  I  enu- 
merate some  of  the  important  matters,  large  and 
small,  that,  if  I  were  a  boy  again,  I  would  be  more 
particular  about  ? 

I  think  I  would  learn  to  use  my  left  hand  just 
as  freely  as  my  right  one,  so  that,  if  anything 
happened  to  lame  either  of  them,  the  other  would 
be  all  ready  to  write  and  "  handle  things,"  just  as 
if  nothing  had  occurred.  There  is  no  reason  in 
the  world  why  both  hands  should  not  be  educated 
alike.  A  little  practice  would  soon  render  one  set 
of  fingers  just  as  expert  as  the  other;  and  I  have 
known  people  who  never  thought,  when  a  thing 
was  to  be  done,  which  particular  hand  ought  to 
do  it,  but  the  hand  nearest  the  object  took  hold 
of  it  and  did  the  office  desired. 

I  would  accustom  myself  to  go  about  in  the 
dark,  and  not  be  obliged  to  have  a  lamp  or  candle 
on  every  occasion.  Too  many  of  us  are  slaves  to 
the  daylight,  and  decline  to  move  forward  an  inch 
unless  everything  is  visible.  One  of  the  most 
cheerful  persons  I  ever  knew  was  a  blind  old  man, 


IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN.  281 

who  had  lost  his  sight  by  an  accident  at  sea  dur- 
ing his  early  manhood.  He  went  everywhere,  and 
could  find  things  more  easily  than  I  could.  When 
his  wife  wanted  a  spool  of  cotton,  or  a  pair  of  scis- 
sors from  up  stairs,  the  gallant  old  gentleman  went 
without  saying  a  word,  and  brought  it.  He  never 
asked  any  one  to  reach  him  this  or  that  object, 
but  seemed  to  have  the  instinct  of  knowing  just 
•where  it  was  and  how  tt)  get  at  it. 

Surprised  at  his  power  of  finding  things,  I  asked 
him  one  day  for  an  explanation ;  and  he  told  me 
that,  when  he  was  a  boy  on  board  a  vessel,  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  he  might  some  time  or  other 
be  deprived  of  sight,  and  he  resolved  to  begin 
early  in  life  to  rely  more  on  a  sense  of  feeling  than 
he  had  ever  done  before.  And  so  he  used  to  wan- 
der, by  way  of  practice,  all  over  the  ship  in  black 
midnight,  going  down  below,  and  climbing  around 
anywhere  and  everywhere,  that  he  might,  in  case 
of  blindness,  not  become  wholly  helpless  and  of  no 
account  in  the  world.  In  this  way  he  had  edu- 
cated himself  to  do  without  eyes  when  it  became 
his  lot  to  live  a  sightless  man. 


282  IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 

I  would  learn  the  art  of  using  tools  of  various 
sorts.  I  think  I  would  insist  on  learning  some 
trade,  even  if  I  knew  there  would  be  no  occasion 
to  follow  it  when  I  grew  up. 

What  a  pleasure  it  is  in  after-life  to  be  able  to 
make  something,  as  the  saying  is  !  —  to  construct  a 
neat  box  to  hold  one's  pen  and  paper ;  or  a  pretty 
cabinet  for  a  sister's  library;  or  to  frame  a  favorite 
engraving  for  a  Christmas  present  to  a  dear,  kind 
mother.  What  a  loss  not  to  know  how  to  mend  a 
chair  that  refuses  to  stand  up  strong  only  because 
it  needs  a  few  tacks  and  a  bit  of  leather  here  and 
there !  Some  of  us  cannot  even  drive  a  nail 
straight ;  and,  should  we  attempt  to  saw  off  an 
obtrusive  piece  of  wood,  ten  to  one  we  should  lose 
a  finger  in  the  operation. 

It  is  a  pleasant  relaxation  from  books  and  study 
to  work  an  hour  every  day  in  a  tool-shop ;  and  my 
friend,  the  learned  and  lovable  Professor  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes,  finds  such  a  comfort  in  "  mend- 
ing things,"  when  his  active  brain  needs  repose, 
that  he  sometimes  breaks  a  piece  of  furniture  on 
purpose  that  he  may  have  the  relief  of  putting  it 


IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN.  283 

together  again  much  better  than  it  was  before. 
He  is  as  good  a  mechanic  as  he  is  a  poet ;  bat 
there  is  nothing  mechanical  about  his  poetry,  as 
you  all  know  who  have  read  his  delightful  pieces. 
An  English  author  of  great  repute  said  to  me  not 
long  ago,  "  Professor  Holmes  is  writing  the  best 
English  of  our  time."  And  I  could  not  help  add- 
ing, "Yes,  and  inventing  the  best  stereoscopes, 
too ! " 

I  think  I  would  ask  permission,  if  I  had  hap- 
pened to  be  born  in  a  city,  to  have  the  opportu- 
nity of  passing  all  my  vacations  in  the  country, 
that  I  might  learn  the  names  of  trees  and  flowers 
and  birds.  We  are,  as  a  people,  sadly  ignorant 
of  all  accurate  rural  knowledge.  We  guess  at 
many  country  things,  but  we  are  certain  of  very 
few. 

It  is  inexcusable  in  a  grown-up  person,  like  my 
amiable  neighbor  Simpkins,  who  lives  from  May  to 
November  on  a  farm  of  sixty  acres  in  a  beautiful  . 
wooded  country,  not  to  know  a  maple  from  a  beech, 
or  a  bobolink  from  a  cat-bird.     He  once  handed 


284  IF  f  WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 

me  a  bunch  of  pansies,  and  called  them  violets, 
and  on  another  occasion  he  mistook  sweet  peas  for 
geraniums. 

What  right  has  a  human  being,  while  the  air  is 
full  of  bird-music,  to  be  wholly  ignorant  of  the 
performer's  name  1  When  we  go  to  the  opera,  we 
are  fully  posted  up  with  regard  to  all  the  principal 
singers,  and  why  should  we  know  nothing  of  the 
owners  of  voices  that  far  transcend  the  vocal 
powers  of  Jenny  Lind  and  Christine  Nilsson] 

A  boy  ought  also  to  be  at  home  in  a  barn,  and 
learn  how  to  harness  a  horse,  tinker  up  a  wagon, 
feed  the  animals,  and  do  a  hundred  useful  things, 
the  experience  of  which  may  be  of  special  service 
to  him  in  after-life  as  an  explorer  or  a  traveller, 
when  unlooked-for  emergencies  befall  him.  I  have 
seen  an  ex-President  of  the  United  States,  when 
an  old  man,  descend  from  his  carriage,  and  re- 
arrange buckles  and  straps  about  his  horses  when 
an  accident  occurred,  while  the  clumsy  coachman 
stood  by  in  a  kind  of  hopeless  inactivity,  not 
knowing  the  best  thing  to  be  done.  The  ex-Presi- 
dent told  me  he  had  learned  about  such  matters 


IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN.  285 

on  a  farm  in  his  boyhood,  and  so  he  was  never  at 
loss  for  remedies  on  the  road  when  his  carriage 
broke  down. 

If  I  were  a  boy  again,  I  would  learn  how  to 
row  a  boat  and  handle  a  sail,  and,  above  all,  how 
to  become  proof  against  sea-sickness.  I  would 
conquer  that  malady  before  I  grew  to  be  fifteen 
years  old.  It  can  be  done,  and  ought  to  be  done 
in  youth,  for  all  of  us  are  more  or  less  inclined  to 
visit  foreign  countries,  either  in  the  way  of  busi- 
ness or  mental  improvement,  to  say  nothing  of 
pleasure.  Fight  the  sea-sick  malady  long  enough, 
and  it  can  be  conquered  at  a  very  early  age. 

Charles  Dickens,  seeing  how  ill  his  first  voyage 
to  America  made  him,  resolved  after  he  got  back 
to  England  to  go  into  a  regular  battle  with  the 
winds  and  waves,  and  never  left  off  crossing  the 
British  Channel,  between  Dover  and  Calais,  in 
severe  weather,  until  he  was  victor  over  his  own 
stomach,  and  could  sail  securely  after  that  in 
storms  that  kept  the  ravens  in  their  nests. 
"  Where  there  's  a  will  there  's  a  way,"  even  out 


286  IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 

of  ocean  troubles;  but  it  is  well  to  begin  early 
to  assert  supremacy  over  salt-water  difficulties. 
"  When  Caesar  undertook  a  thing,"  says  his  biog- 
rapher, "his  body  was  no  obstacle." 

Of  course  every  young  person  nowadays,  male 
or  female,  learns  to  swim,  and  so  no  advice  on 
that  score  need  be  proffered ;  but  if  I  were  a  boy 
again  I  would  learn  to  float  half  a  day,  if  neces- 
sary, in  as  rough  a  bit  of  water  as  I  could  find 
on  our  beautiful  coast.  A  boy  of  fifteen  who 
cannot  keep  his  head  and  legs  all  right  in  a  stiff 
sea  ought  to  —  try  until  he  can.  No  lad  in  these 
days  ought  to  drown,  —  if  he  can  help  it ! 

I  would  keep  "better  hours,"  if  I  were  a  boy 
again ;  that  is,  I  would  go  to  bed  earlier  than 
most  boys  do.  Nothing  gives  more  mental  and 
bodily  vigor  than  sound  rest  when  properly  applied. 
Sleep  is  our  great  replenisher,  and  if  we  neglect 
to  take  it  naturally  in  childhood,  all  the  worse 
for  us  when  we  grow  up.  If  we  go  to  bed  early, 
we  ripen ;  if  we  sit  up  late,  we  decay,  and  sooner 
or  later  we  contract  a  disease  called  insomnia, 


IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN.  287 

allowing  it  to  be  permanently  fixed  upon  us ;  and 
then  we  begin  to  decay,  even  in  youth.  Late 
hours  are  shadows  from  the  grave. 

If  I  were  a  boy  again,  I  would  have  a  blank- 
book  in  which  I  could  record,  before  going  to  bed, 
every  day's  events  just  as  they  happened  to  me 
personally.  If  I  began  by  writing  only  two  lines 
a  day  in  my  diary,  I  would  start  my  little  book, 
and  faithfully  put  down  what  happened  to  inter- 
est me. 

On  its  pages  I  would  note  down  the  habits  of 
birds  and  animals  as  I  saw  them,  and  if  the  horse 
fell  ill,  down  should  go  his  malady  in  my  book, 
and  what  cured  him  should  go  there  too.  If  the 
cat  or  the  dog  showed  any  peculiar  traits,  they 
should  all  be  chronicled  in  my  diary,  and  nothing 
worth  recording  should  escape  me. 

There  are  hundreds  of  things  I  would  correct  in 
my  life  if  I  were  a  boy  again,  and  among  them  is 
this  especial  one  :  I  would  be  more  careful  of  my 
teeth.  Seeing  since  I  have  grown  up  how  much 
suffering  is  induced  by  the  bad  habit  of  constantly 


288  IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 

eating  candies  and  other  sweet  nuisances,  I  would 
shut  my  mouth  to  all  allurements  of  that  sort. 
Very  hot  and  very  cold  substances  I  would  studi- 
ously avoid. 

Toothache  in  our  country  is  one  of  the  national 
crimes.  Too  many  people  we  meet  have  swelled 
faces.  The  dentist  thrives  here  as  he  does  in  no 
other  land  on  this  planet,  and  it  is  because  we 
begin  to  spoil  our  teeth  at  the  age  of  five  or  six 
years.  A  child,  eight  years  old,  asked  me  not 
long  ago  if  I  could  recommend  him  to  a  dentist 
"  who  did  n't  hurt"  !  I  pitied  him,  but  I  was  un- 
acquainted with  such  an  artist.  They  all  hurt, 
and  they  cannot  help  it,  poor,  hard-working  gen- 
tlemen, charging,  as  they  do,  like  Chester. 

I  would  have  no  dealings  with  tobacco,  in  any 
form,  if  I  were  a  boy  again.  My  friend  Pipes  tells 
me  he  is  such  a  martyr  to  cigar-boxes  that  his  life 
is  a  burden.  The  habit  of  smoking  has  become 
such  a  tyrant  over  him  that  he  carries  a  tobacco 
bowsprit  at  his  clamp,  discolored  lips  every  hour 
of  the  day,  and  he  begs  me  to  warn  all  the  boys 


IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN.  289 

of  my  acquaintance,  and  say  to  them  emphatically, 
"  Don't  learn  to  smoke  ! "  He  tells  me,  sadly,  that 
his  head  is  sometimes  in  such  a  dizzy  whirl,  and 
his  brain  so  foul  from  long  habits  of  smoking  he 
cannot  break  off,  that  he  is  compelled  to  forego 
much  that  is  pleasant  in  existence,  and  live  a  to- 
bacco-tortured life  from  year  to  year.  Poor  Pipes! 
he  is  a  sad  warning  to  young  fellows  who  are  just 
learning  to  use  the  dirty,  unmannerly  weed. 

As  I  look  back  to  my  school-days  I  can  remem- 
ber so  many  failures  through  not  understanding 
how  to  avoid  them,  that  I  feel  compelled  to  have 
this  plain  talk  all  round  with  you.  I  take  it  for 
granted  that  I  am  writing  for  those  sensible  lads 
who  mean  to  have  their  minds  keep  the  best  com- 
pany possible,  and  never  suffer  them  to  go  sneak- 
ing about  for  inferiority  in  anything.  To  be  young 
is  a  great  advantage,  and  now  is  the  golden  time 
to  store  away  treasures  for  the  future.  I  never 
knew  a  youth  yet  who  would  be  willing  to  say, 
"  I  don't  mean  to  get  understanding ;  I  don't  wish 
to  know  much  of  anything ;  I  have  no  desire  to 


290  IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 

compass  to-day  more  and  better  things  than  I 
knew  yesterday;  I  prefer,  when  I  grow  up,  to  be 
an  ignorant  man,  a  mere  passive  wheel  in  the 
great  machine  of  the  universe."  The  richest  ras- 
cal that  ever  lived  never  started  with  the  idea  in 
boyhood  that  he  would  repudiate  morals,  make 
money,  and  avoid  ideas  ! 

One  of  the  most  common  of  all  laments  is  this 
one,  and  I  have  heard  it  hundreds  of  times  from 
grayheaded  men  in  every  walk  of  life,  "  0,  that 
my  lost  youth  could  come  back  to  me,  and  I  could 
have  again  the  chance  for  improvement  I  once 
had !  "  What  "  lucky  fellows  "  you  are,  to  be  sure, 
with  the  privilege  of  being  about  twelve  or  fifteen 
years  old !  still  keeping  within  your  own  control 
those  priceless  opportunities  when  the  portals  of 
knowledge  are  standing  wide  open  and  inviting 
you  in,  and  not  one  adverse  spirit  daring  to  hold 
you  back.  Don't  I  wish  I  could  be  a  boy  again  ! 
We,  who  are  swiftly  stepping  westward  towards 
the  setting  sun,  cannot  help  crying  out  to  you, 
who  are  still  in  the  Eastern  quarter  of  life,  what 


IF  I  WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN.  291 

Horace  Mann  used  to  sound  in  onr  ears  when  we 
were  as  young  as  you  are,  "  Orient  yourselves  ! " 

What  we  sow  in  youth  we  reap  in  age.  The 
seed  of  the  thistle  always  produces  the  thistle. 
The  possibilities  that  wait  upon  you  who  are  yet 
in  the  spring-time  of  existence,  who  are  yet  hold- 
ing in  your  own  two  hands  the  precious  gift  of 
time,  cannot  be  estimated.  Do  not  forget  that  a 
useless  life  is  an  early  death  ! 

I  thank  Mr.  Longfellow  for  having  written  the 
following  lines.  When  he  read  them  to  me  I 
thanked  him  heartily,  and  now  I  do  it  again, 
as  I  quote  them  for  you  to  commit  to  memory 
from  these  pages  :  — 

"  How  beautiful  is  youth !  how  bright  it  gleams 
With  its  illusions,  aspirations,  dreams  ! 
Book  of  beginnings,  story  without  end, 
(Each  maid  a  heroine,  and  each  man  a  friend  !) 
Aladdin's  lamp,  and  Fortunatus'  purse, 
That  holds  the  treasures  of  the  universe! 
All  possibilities  are  in  its  hands, 
No  danger  daunts  it,  and  no  foe  withstands  : 
In  its  sublime  audacity  of  faith, 
'  Be  thou  removed  ! '  it  to  the  mountain  saith, 
And  with  ambitious  feet,  secure  and  proud, 
Ascends  the  ladder  leaning  on  the  cloud  ! " 


292  ff  1    WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 

I  wonder  if  any  of  you,  my  young  friends,  ever 
happened  to  read  of  a  poor,  unhappy  old  man  who 
stood  one  New  Year's  night  at  the  window  of  his 
dwelling  and  thought  over  all  the  errors  of  his 
youth,  what  he  had  neglected  to  do  of  good,  and 
what  he  had  committed  of  evil;  how  his  bosom 
was  filled  with  remorse,  how  his  desolate  soul  was 
wrung  as  he  reflected  on  the  past  follies  of  a  long 
life.  The  days  when  he  was  strong  and  active 
wandered  about  him  like  ghosts.  It  was  too  late 
to  retrieve  his  lost  youth.  The  grave  was  waiting 
for  him,  and  with  unspeakable  grief  he  bethought 
him  of  the  time  spent  in  idleness,  of  the  left-hand 
road  he  had  chosen  which  had  led  him  into  ruin- 
ous follies  and  years  of  slothfulness.  Then  he  re- 
called the  names  of  his  early  companions  who  had 
selected  the  right-hand  path,  and  were  now  happy 
and  content  in  their  declining  days,  having  lived 
the  lives  of  virtuous,  studious  men,  doing  the  best 
they  were  able  in  the  world.  Then  he  cried  to  his 
dead  father,  who  had  warned  him  when  he  was  a 
lad  to  follow  the  good  and  shun  the  evil  pathways 
of  existence,  "0  father,  give  me  back  my  lost 


IF  I  WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN.  993 

youth,  that  I  may  live  a  different  life  from  the 
one  I  have  so  long  pursued  ! "  But  it  was  too  late 
now  to  make  moan.  His  father  and  his  youth  had 
gone  together.  There  the  poor  bewildered  crea- 
ture stands,  blinded  with  tears,  but  still  beseech- 
ing Heaven  to  give  him  back  his  youth  once  more. 
Few  spectacles  are  more  terrible  to  contemplate 
than  the  broken-down  figure  of  that  weeping  old 
man,  lamenting  that  he  cannot  be  young  again, 
for  then  he  would  lead  a  life  so  different  from  the 
one  he  had  lived. 

But  what  a  thrill  of  pleasure  follows  the  sad 
picture  we  have  been  contemplating  when  we  are 
told  it  was  only  a  fearful  dream  that  a  certain 
young  man  was  passing  through,  a  vision  only  of 
possible  degradation,  and  that  Heaven  had  taken 
this  method  of  counselling  the  youth  to  turn  aside 
from  the  allurements  that  might  beset  his  path, 
and  thus  be  spared  the  undying  remorse  that 
would  surely  take  possession  of  him  when  he  grew 
to  be  a  man,  if  he  gave  way  to  self-indulgence  and 
those  wandering  idle  ways  that  lead  to  error,  and 
oftentimes  to  vice  and  crime.  The  misery  of  a 


294  IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 

life  to  be  avoided  was  thus  prefigured,  and  the 
young  man  awoke  to  thank  Heaven  it  was  only  a 
dream,  and  resolve  so  to  spend  God's  great  gift 
of  time  that  no  horror,  such  as  he  had  suffered 
that  night  in  sleep,  should  ever  arise  to  haunt  his 
waking  hours. 

If  I  were  a  boy  again,  one  of  the  first  things  I 
would  strive  to  do  would  be  this :  I  would,  as 
soon  as  possible,  try  hard  to  become  acquainted 
With  and  then  deal  honestly  with  myself,  to  study 
up  my  own  deficiencies  and  capabilities,  and  I 
would  begin  early  enough,  before  faults  had  time 
to  become  habits ;  I  would  seek  out  earnestly  all 
the  weak  spots  in  my  character  and  then  go  to 
work  speedily  and  mend  them  with  better  mate- 
rial; if  I  found  that  I  was  capable  of  some  one 
thing  in  a  special  degree,  I  would  ask  counsel  on 
that  point  of  some  judicious  friend,  and  if  advised 
to  pursue  it  I  would  devote  myself  to  that  par- 
ticular matter,  to  the  exclusion  of  much  that  is 
foolishly  followed  in  boyhood. 

If  I  were  a  boy  again  I  would  practice  persever- 


IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN.  295 

ance  oftener,  and  never  give  a  thing  up  because 
it  was  hard  or  inconvenient  to  do  it.  If  we  want 
light,  we  must  conquer  darkness.  When  I  think 
of  mathematics  I  blush  at  the  recollection  of  how 
often  I  "caved  in"  years  ago.  There  is  no  trait 
more  valuable  than  a  determination  to  persevere 
when  the  right  thing  is  to  be  accomplished.  We 
are  all  inclined  to  give  up  too  easily  in  trying 
or  unpleasant  situations,  and  the  point  I  would 
establish  with  myself,  if  the  choice  were  again 
within  my  grasp,  would  be  never  to  relinquish 
my  hold  on  a  possible  success  if  mortal  strength 
or  brains  in  my  case  were  adequate  to  the  occa- 
sion. That  was  a  capital  lesson  which  Professor 
Faraday  taught  one  of  his  students  in  the  lec- 
ture-room after  some  chemical  experiments.  The 
lights  had  been  put  out  in  the  hall  and  by  acci- 
dent some  small  article  dropped  on  the  floor  from 
the  professor's  hand.  The  professor  lingered  be- 
hind, endeavoring  to  pick  it  up.  "  Never  mind," 
said  the  student,  "it  is  of  no  consequence  to- 
night, sir,  whether  we  find  it  or  no."  "  That  is 
true,"  replied  the  professor ;  "  but  it  is  of  grave 


296  IF  I  WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 

consequence  to  me  as  a  principle,  that  I  am  not 
foiled -in  my  determination  to  find  it."  Persever- 
ance can  sometimes  equal  genius  in  its  results. 
"  There  are  only  two  creatures,"  says  the  Eastern 
proverb,  "who  can  surmount  the  pyramids, — 
the  eagle  and  the  snail ! " 

If  I  were  a  boy  again  I  would  school  myself 
into  a  habit  of  attention  oftener,  I  would  let  noth- 
ing come  between  me  and  the  subject  in  hand. 
I  would  remember  that  an  expert  on  the  ice 
never  tries  to  skate  in  two  directions  at  once. 
One  of  our  great  mistakes,  while  we  are  young, 
is  that  we  do  not  attend  strictly  to  what  we  are 
about  just  then,  at  that  particular  moment ;  we 
do  not  bend  our  energies  close  enough  to  what 
we  are  doing  or  learning ;  we  wander  into  a  half- 
interest  only,  and  so  never  acquire  fully  what  is 
needful  for  us  to  become  master  of.  The  prac- 
tice of  being  habitually  attentive  is  one  easily 
obtained,  if  we  begin  early  enough.  I  often  hear 
grown-up  people  say,  "  I  could  n't  fix  my  atten- 
tion on  the  sermon,  or  book,  although  I  wished  to 


IF  I   WERE  A   BOY  AGAIN.  297 

do  so,"  and  the  reason  is  that  a  habit  of  attention 
was  never  formed  in  youth.  Let  me  tell  you  a 
sad  instance  of  a  neglected  power  of  concentra- 
tion. A  friend  asked  me  once  to  lend  him  an 
interesting  book,  something  that  would  enchain 
his  attention,  for  he  said  he  was  losing  the  power 
to  read.  After  a  few  days  he  brought  back  the 
volume,  saying  it  was  no  doubt  a  work  of  great 
value  and  beauty,  but  that  the  will  to  enjoy  it 
had  gone  from  him  forever,  -for  other  matters 
would  intrude  themselves  on  the  page  he  was 
trying  to  understand  and  enjoy,  and  rows  of  fig- 
ures constantly  marshalled  themselves  on  the 
margin,  adding  themselves  up  at  the  bottom  of 
the  leaf! 

If  I  were  to  live  my  life  over  again  I  would 
pay  more  attention  to  the  cultivation  of  memory. 
I  would  strengthen  that  faculty  by  every  possi- 
ble means  and  on  every  possible  occasion.  It 
takes  a  little  hard  work  at  first  to  remember 
things  accurately,  but  memory  soon  helps  itself 
and  gives  very  little  trouble.  It  only  needs 


298  IF  I  WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 

early  cultivation  to  become  a  power.  Every- 
body can  acquire  it.  When  I  was  a  youth,  a 
classmate  of  mine  came  to  me  with  a  long  face 
and  told  me  he  was  in  danger  of  being  sup- 
planted in  the  regard  of  a  young  person  of  the 
gentler  sex  by  a  smart  fellow  belonging  to  an- 
other school,  who  was  daily  in  the  habit  of  calling 
on  the  lady  and  repeating  to  her  from  memory 
whole  poems  of  considerable  length.  "What 
would  you  do]"  sighed  the  lad  to  me.  "Do?" 
said  I,  "  I  would  beat  him  on  his  own  ground, 
and  at  once  commit  to  memory  the  whole  of 
*  Paradise  Lost,'  book  by  book,  and  every  time 
the  intruder  left  Amelia's  house,  I  would  rush 
in  and  fire  away  !  Depend  upon  it,"  I  said,  "  she 
is  quite  taken  by  surprise  with  the  skilful  memory 
of  her  new  acquaintance,  and  you  must  beat  him 
with  surpassing  feats  of  the  same  quality."  "  0, 
but,"  said  my  friend,  "  I  have,  as  you  know,  a 
very  poor  memory!"  "The  more  reason  now 
for  cultivating  that  department  of  your  intellect," 
I  rejoined.  "  If  you  give  way  to  idle  repining 
and  do  nothing,  that  fellow  will  soon  be  firmly 


IF  I  WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN.  299 

seated  in  your  place.  I  should  not  wonder  if  he 
were  now  at  work  on  Thomson's  'Seasons/  for 
his  infamous  purpose.  Delay  no  longer,  but 
attack  John  Milton  after  supper  to-night,  and 
win  the  prize  above  all  competition  ! "  Ezekiel 
began  in  good  earnest,  and  before  the  summer 
was  over  he  had  memorized  the  whole  of  "  Para- 
dise Lost,"  rehearsed  it  to  Amelia,  and  gained  the 
victory  ! 

If  I  were  a  boy  again  I  would  know  more 
about  the  history  of  my  own  country  than  is 
usual,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  with  young  Americans. 
When  in  England  I  have  always  been  impressed 
with  the  minute  and  accurate  knowledge  con- 
stantly observable  in  young  English  lads  of  aver- 
age intelligence  and  culture  concerning  the  his- 
tory of  Great  Britain.  They  not  only  have  a 
clear  and  available  store  of  historical  dates  at 
hand  for  use  on  any  occasion,  but  they  have  a 
wonderfully  good  idea  of  the  policy  of  govern- 
ment adopted  by  all  the  prominent  statesmen  in 
different  eras  down  to  the  present  time.  An  ac- 


300  IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 

quaintauce  of  mine  in  England,  a  boy  of  fourteen, 
gave  me  one  day  such  eloquent  and  intelligent 
reasons  for  his  preference  of  Edmund  Burke 
above  all  other  patriotic  statesmen  of  his  time, 
as  made  me  reflect  how  little  the  average  Ameri- 
can lad  of  that  age  would  be  apt  to  know  of  the 
comparative  merits  of  Webster  and  Calhoun  as 
men  of  mark  and  holding  the  highest  considera- 
tion thirty  years  ago  in  the  United  States.  If 
the  history  of  any  country  is  worth  an  earnest 
study  it  is  surely  the  history  of  our  own  land, 
and  we  cannot  begin  too  early  in  our  lives  to 
master  it  fully  and  completely.  What  a  confused 
notion  of  distinguished  Americans  a  boy  must  have 
to  reply,  as  one  did  not  long  ago  when  asked 
by  his  teacher,  "Who  was  Washington  Irving  1" 
"A  General  in  the  Revolutionary  War,  sir." 

If  I  were  a  boy  again  I  would  strive  to  become 
a  fearless  person,  I  would  cultivate  courage  as  one 
of  the  highest  achievements  of  life.  "  Nothing  is 
so  mild  and  gentle  as  courage,  nothing  is  so  cruel 
and  vindictive  as  cowardice,"  says  the  wise  author 


IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN.  301 

of  a  late  essay  on  conduct.  Too  many  of  us  now- 
adays are  overcome  by  fancied  lions  in  the  way, 
lions  that  never  existed  out  of  our  own  brains. 
Nothing  is  so  credulous  as  fear.  Some  weak- 
minded  horses  are  forever  looking  around  for 
white  stones  to  shy  at,  and  if  we  are  hunting  for 
terrors  they  will  be  sure  to  turn  up  in  some  shape 
or  other.  •  In  America  we  are  too  prone  to  borrow 
trouble  and  anticipate  evils  that  may  never  appear. 
"  The  fear  of  ill  exceeds  the  ill  we  fear."  Abra- 
ham Lincoln  once  said  he  never  crossed  Fox  River, 
no  matter  how  high  the  stream  was,  until  he  came 
to  it!  Dangers  will  arise  in  any  career,  but 
presence  of  mind  will  often  conquer  the  worst  of 
them.  Be  prepared  for  any  fate,  and  there  is  no 
harm  to  be  feared.  Achilles,  you  remember,  was 
said  to  be  invulnerable,  but  he  never  went  into 
battle  without  being  completely  armed  ! 

If  I  were  a  boy  again  I  would  look  on  the  cheer- 
ful side  of  everything,  for  everything  almost  has 
a  cheerful  side.  Life  is  very  much  like  a  mirror  ; 
if  you  smile  upon  it,  it  smiles  back  again  on  you, 


302  IF  I  WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN. 

but  if  you  frown  and  look  doubtful  upon  it,  you 
will  be  sure  to  get  a  similar  look  in  return.  I 
once  heard  it  said  of  a  grumbling,  unthankful 
person,  "  He  would  have  made  an  uncommonly 
fine  sour  apple,  if  he  had  happened  to  be  born  in 
that  station  of  life  ! "  Inner  sunshine  warms  not 
only  the  heart  of  the  owner,  but  all  who  come  in 
contact  with  it.  Indifference  begets  indifference. 
"  Who  shuts  love  out,  in  turn  shall  be  shut  out 
from  love." 

If  I  were  a  boy  again  I  would  school  myself  to 
say  "No"  oftener.  I  might  write  pages  on  the 
importance  of  learning  very  early  in  life  to  gain 
that  point  where  a  young  man  can  stand  erect 
and  decline  doing  an  unworthy  thing  because  it  is 
unworthy,  but  the  whole  subject  is  so  admirably 
treated  by  dear  old  President  James  Walker,  who 
was  once  the  head  of  Harvard  College,  that  I  beg 
you  to  get  his  volume  of  discourses  and  read  what 
he  has  to  tell  you  about  saying  No  on  every  proper 
occasion.  Dr.  Walker  had  that  supreme  art  of 
"  putting  things "  which  is  now  so  rare  among 


IF  I   WERE  A  BOY  AGAIN.  3Q3 

instructors  of  youth  or  age,  and  what  he  has  left 
for  mankind  to  read  is  written  in  permanent  ink. 

If  I  were  a  boy  again  I  would  demand  of  myself 
more  courtesy  towards  my  companions  and  friends. 
Indeed,  I  would  rigorously  exact  it  of  myself 
towards  strangers  as  well.  The  smallest  courtesies, 
interspersed  along  the  rough  roads  of  life,  are  like 
the  little  English  sparrows  now  singing  to  us  all 
winter  long,  and  making  that  season  of  ice  and 
snow  more  endurable  to  everybody. 

But  I  have  talked  long  enough,  and  this  shall 
be  my  parting  paragraph.  Instead  of  trying  so 
hard  as  some  of  us  do  to  be  happy,  as  if  that  were 
the  sole  purpose  of  life,  I  would,  if  I  were  a  boy 
again,  try  still  harder  to  deserve  happiness. 


PELETIAH   PELLET'S   YOTTTETUL   OATAS- 
TKOPHE, 


PELETIAH  PELLET'S  YOUTHFUL  CATAS- 
TROPHE. 


JJUR  misfortunes  are  sometimes  angels  in 
disguise,  but  they  are  not  always  thus 
apparelled.  Tranquillity  under  afflic- 
tion cannot  be  commanded  in '  every  event  of 
life,  however  necessary  it  may  be  on  all  occa- 
sions to  strive  after  that  equanimity  which 
becomes  a  man  or  woman,  no  matter  how  severe 
the  present  trial  of  patience  and  fortitude.  Lis- 
ten to  the  unhappy  story  of  Peletiah,  son  of 
Orrin  K.  Pellet  of  South  Littleton,  as  related 
by  himself. 

In  the  remembrance  of  some  sorrows,  what- 
ever the  duration  of  life,  we  never  outgrow 
ourselves.  Whenever  I  attempt  to  recall  the 


308  PELETIAII  PELLET'S 

incidents  in  my  somewhat  exceptional  career, 
one  particular  day  of  my  existence  rises  up  be- 
fore me,  and  will  not  be  forgotten,  or  even 
lightened  of  its  burden  of  pain.  With  shame 
and  confusion  I  look  back  on  the  past,  for  that 
one  terrible  day  of  gloom  overshadows  my  career, 
and  obscures  the  sunny  hours  which  in  the  course 
of  nature  come  at  intervals  to  every  male  and 
female  descendant  of  Adam.  I  can  think  with 
calmness,  even  with  indifference,  of  many  sad 
circumstances  that  have  befallen  my  lot,  —  cir- 
cumstances full  of  peril  and  horror,  —  but  that 
particular  disaster  to  which  I  refer  has  blotted 
out  all  feeling  with  regard  to  other  scenes  that 
might,  disconnected  from  my  grand  catastrophe, 
have  darkened  a  lifetime.  0  that  I  had  died 
young,  while  yet  a  stranger  to  public  mortifica- 
tion,—  a  mortification  to  "unbrace  the  strongest 
nerves,  and  make  the  stoutest  courage  quail"  ! 

The  day  of  my  calamity,  forty  years  ago, 
dawned,  like  many  another  day,  in  ripe  October. 
The  morning  that  ushered  in  the  Sunday  on 
which  I  was  to  suffer  was  one  of  radiant  loveli- 


YOUTHFUL    CATASTROPHE.  3Q9 

ness,  and  as  I  walked  along  alone  to  our  modest 
little  house  of  worship  in  the  country,  all  the 
trees  seemed  hanging  out  their  banners  of  beauty. 
How  well  I  recall  the  scene  of  surpassing  brill- 
iancy on  that  gorgeous  autumn  morning  !  I  had 
started  early,  that  I  might  move  slowly  over  the 
road,  and,  allured  by  the  splendid  lights  and 
shadows,  I  made  a  detour  of  over  a  mile  beyond 
the  church,  in  the  direction  of  a  beautiful  hill- 
side, on  one  of  whose  slopes  resided  my  father's 
"life-long  friend,  "  Colonel  Bijah  Peabody,"  as  he 
was  universally  denominated  in  that  part  of  the 
country. 

The  colonel  was  standing  by  his  garden  gate, 
enjoying  the  still  security  of  that  peaceful  Sun- 
day morning.  His  pipe  rested  between  his  lips, 
and  emitted  only  at  moderate  intervals  a  gentle 
puff  of  smoke.  Seeing  me  approaching  from  the 
woody  roadside,  he  looked  a  hearty  welcome,  and 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Glad  to  see  ye,  Peletiah  !  How  's  your  fa- 
ther an'  all  the  folks  to  home  1 " 

I  answered  his  kind  inquiry,  and  declined   his 


310  PELETIAH  PELLET'S 

earnest  invitation  to  "  walk  in,"  as  I  was  hurry- 
ing  to  the  meeting-house  for  morning  service. 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  man,  "  the  least  ye  can 
do  is  to  take  'long  a  couple  bottles  of  my  best 
cider  to  your  father,  who  is  laid  up  to  home  with 
roomatizum." 

Now  if  there  was  one  liquid  in  the  world  that 
father  hankered  after  when  he  did  not  feel  "ex- 
actly smart,"  it  was  the  colonel's  bottled  cider 
in  October,  for  he  said  "  Peabody's  was  better 
than  his'n  or  anybody  else's  cider  in  the  whole 
country." 

At  first  I  hesitated  about  taking  along  the 
delectable  fluid,  for  I  should  have  to  convey  it 
in  my  coat-tail  pockets  to  church  with  me,  and 
elude,  as  best  I  might,  the  vigilant  eyes  of 
Deacon  Treadwell  and  Miss  Patience  Libby,  both 
of  whom  sat  in  full  sight  of  our  pew. 

However,  when  the  colonel,  who  saw  my  re- 
luctant response  to  his  invitation,  exclaimed, 
"  Don't  be  proud,  Peletiah  !  "  I  hastily  pocketed 
the  cider,  and,  thinking  of  father's  prospective 
delight  at  dinner-time,  started  forward  with  alac- 
rity over  the  hillside  to  meeting. 


YOUTHFUL   CATASTROPHE.  311 

The  bell  had  ceased  tolling  when  I  arrived 
at  the  door,  but  I  waited  outside  until  after 
the  "  first  prayer,"  and  then  glided  noiselessly 
on  my  toes  into  our  family  pew.  My  brother 
and  sister  had  already  taken  their  seats,  leaving 
my  place  unoccupied  against  my  arrival.  Mother 
remained  at  home  to  keep  our  dear  old  father 
company  in  his  suffering,  and  read  to  him  the 
most  comforting  chapters  in  the  Bible  during 
his  worst  paroxysms. 

My  long  walk  had  predisposed  me  to  slumber, 
but  I  stood  up  as  usual  in  "  singing  time,"  cut- 
ting in  with  full  force  when  we  came  to  "  And 
that  shall  kindle  ours,"  in  the  proper  place  for 
the  tenor  voices.  I  heard  the  minister  "give 
out "  his  text,  and  followed  him  into  his  "  sec- 
ondly," when  my  mind  wandered,  and  a  preju- 
diced individual  would  probably  have  charged 
me  with  being  asleep.  I  roused  myself  warily, 
however,  chewed  a  bit  of  fennel,  and  put  on  a 
look  of  intense  satisfaction  with  the  discourse. 

Suddenly  I  became  aware  of  a  movement  in 
the  direction  of  one  of  my  coat-tails.  A  freezing 


312  PELETIAJI  PELLET'S 

horror  chilled  my  person  from  head  to  foot,  and 
I  knew  then  it  was  the  cider  getting  ready 
to  explode  in  my  left-hand  pocket.  For  a  mo- 
ment I  tried  to  summon  up  an  appearance  of 
unconcern,  as  if  the  sound  came  from  some  other 
locality ;  but  its  proximity  could  not  long  be 
disguised.  Immediate  exposure  was  inevitable. 

Should  I  instantly  fly  from  the  pew,  before 
the  cork  had  time  to  do  its  worst  1  I  deliber- 
ated a  moment,  but  it  was  too  late.  One  crash, 
and  my  fate  was  sealed.  In  all  my  experience 
with  corks,  I  never  heard  one  leave  the  neck 
of  a  bottle  with  a  sound  like  that.  The  noise 
was  terrific  in  its  violence,  and,  to  my  disor- 
dered fancy,  shook  the  meeting-house.  The 
minister  stopped  short  in  his  sermon  and  looked 
around  bewildered.  Two  small  disreputable  boys 
in  the  gallery  collapsed  with  delight.  Anything 
to  put  an  end  to  the  sermon  was  "  nuts  to  them," 
and  they  at  once  fairly  effervesced  with  happiness 
over  my  misery.  But  their  effervescence  was 
nothing  to  that  which  was  going  on  in  our  vicin- 
ity !  With  one  mighty  bound  the  "  pent-up 


YOUTHFUL   CATASTROPHE.  313 

Utica "  of  cider,  with  no  cork  to  stop  it,  tore 
into  the  air  above  our  pew,  and  leaped  headlong- 
over  my  shoulders,  boiling  and  bursting  into  the 
back  of  my  neck,  and  spilling  over  into  the 
broad  aisle.  In  vain  I  tried  to  restrain  the  im- 
petuous liquid  with  my  fingers,  —  to  curb  its 
remorseless  fury  for  a  moment  with  my  pocket- 
handkerchief;  but  no  effort  of  mine  could  quell 
its  fleet  career.  On  it  came,  hissing  and  destroy- 
ing, like  a  wild  tornado  in  a  tropic  clime,  terrible 
to  contemplate  and  awful  to  experience.  It  was 
indeed  "  a  sight  to  behold  !  "  My  hair  became 
saturated  with  cider  to  that  extent,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  poet,  it  "  drooped  round  my  pallid 
cheek  like  seaweed  on  a  clam."  My  garments 
ran  apple-juice,  and  I  was  as  one  steeped  from 
crown  to  toe  in  cider.  I  was  odorous  with  the 
foaming  abomination,  and  fearful  to  look  upon. 

All  eyes  were  now  turned  upon  me,  evidently 
requiring  an  explanation  of  such  an  unwonted 
scene,  when  the  other  bottle  began  to  give  volu- 
ble signs  of  disturbance.  At  once  I  started  up 
in  fresh  alarm,  and  leaped  out  of  the  pew,  making 


314      PELETIAH  PELLET'S   CATASTROPHE. 

for  the  meeting-house  door  with  all  the  precipi- 
tation possible  to  a  ruined  man ;  but  alas  !  I  was 
too  late.  Out  flew  the  other  cork,  and  a  second 
deluge  wildly  ensued.  Miss  Patience  was  struck 
violently  twice  in  the  bonnet,  and  screamed  as  I 
flew  past  her  into  the  porch.  There  I  sank  down 
exhausted  with  shame  and  over-exertion,  only 
wishing  for  providential  annihilation  on  the  sacred 
spot  I  had  innocently  done  so  much  to  dese- 
crate. 

Reader,  may  it  never  be  your  fate  to  hear 
what  I  have  heard,  to  see  what  I  have  seen  in 
an  old-fashioned  country  meeting-house,  where 
everybody  knows  you,  and  where,  down  to  the 
latest  generation,  nobody  ever  forgets  a  ridiculous 
catastrophe  like  mine. 

For  centuries  to  come,  whenever  a  bottle  of 
cider  threatens  to  explode  in  South  Littleton, 
some  bystander  will  be  sure  to  observe,  with  a 
sly  look  at  the  fizzling  aperture,  "  Stand  by  with 
a  tumbler,  for  I  guess  it 's  a-goin'  to  Pellet !  " 
And  thus  my  ill-starred  name  will  forever  be  as- 
sociated with  ciderial  influences,  anything  but 
pleasant  in  the  humble  village  where  I  was  born. 


A  CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER. 


A  CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER. 


P|E  were  sitting  together  alone,  one  even- 
ing not  long  ago,  my  venerable  pitcher 
and  I,  over  a  brisk  wood-fire,  in  a  cer- 
tain room  which  I  believe  somebody  has  described 
somewhere  as  "  My  Friend's  Library."  It  was  a 
stormy  night,  and  as  the  wind  instruments  were 
blowing  their  wild  music  down  the  chimney,  I 
thought  of  wrecks  at  sea  and  wrecks  on  shore  un- 
til the  book  I  was  reading  closed  of  its  own  accord, 
and,  musing,  I  dozed  to  that  extent  my  quaint  old 
pitcher  (a  recent  acquisition  from  Briggs's)  as- 
sumed the  attitude  of  a  friendly  companion  and 
began  to  talk.  It  was  no  ordinary  pitcher  keep- 


318  A   CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER. 

ing  me  company  that  blustering  December  night, 
but  a  tall,  handsomely-formed,  knowing  article, 
surmounted  with  a  well-shaped  set  of  features, 
full  of  expression,  the  eyes  twinkling  like  human 
ones,  and  the  nose  fully  up  to  the  eyes  in  point  of 
intelligence.  I  hardly  dare  to  speak  of  the  mouth, 
it  was  so  like  that  of  a  certain  member  of  Con- 
gress whose  eloquence  is  unrivalled  on  the  floor 
of  both  houses.  But  I  must  allude  to  the  'cocked 
hat  and  wig  curled  up  beneath  it.  They  were 
simply  stunning  (I  use  that  too  current  adjective 
reluctantly,  but  no  other  word  will  convey  pre- 
cisely what  I  mean).  The  whole  make-up  of  the 
pitcher,  especially  in  the  direction  of  its  stomach, 
came  little  short  of  humanity. 

As  I  said  before,  the  pitcher  began  to  talk.  Its 
remarks  at  first  were  not  always  coherent  ;  but 
gaining  confidence  in  a  few  minutes,  it  became 
quite  fluent  and  instructive. 

"  You  seem  to  have  travelled  somewhat,"  I  ven- 
tured to  remark,  "  and  to  have  heard  a  great  deal 
for  so  retiring  and  modest  a  pitcher." 


A   CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER.  319 

"  Exactly  so,"  it  replied  ;  "  and  perhaps  you  have 
been  made  aware  before  this,  by  Baptista  in 
'  Taming  of  the  Shrew,'  that  '  pitchers  have 
ears ! ' " 

I  had  been  so  informed  in  a  remark  Baptista 
made  to  Tranio,  in  Padua,  I  do  not  know  how  long 
ago,  and  nodded  to  that  effect.  After  this  the 
pitcher  went  on  in  a  truly  amazing  manner,  and 
looking  me  straight  in  the  face  inquired :  "  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  a  pitcher  falling  in  love,  and 
being  miserable  on  account  of  a  separation  from 
the  object  of  its  affections  ?  " 

"  Never,"  said  I,  "  for  that  would  be  too  ridicu- 
lous." 

"  What  seems  nonsense  to  you  is  a  deep  reality 
to  me,"  sighed  the  pitcher. 

Seeing  from  the  gravity  of  this  remark  that  I 
had  been  too  hasty  in  my  observation,  I  asked 
whom  the  lady  might  be*  who  had  made  such  in- 
roads on  the  form  before  me. 

"  A  Dresden  shepherdess  with  a  pink  crook," 
moaned  the  pitcher ;  "  and  Katy  and  Jane  knew 


320  A  CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER. 

all  about  our  attachment,  and  helped  us  '  keep 
company  '  as  long  as  they  dared  to." 

"  Was  she  a  beauty  ?  "  I  inquired. 

Here  the  pitcher  protested  that  in  all  the  galler- 
ies of  Female  Loveliness  there  was  "  none  so  rare 
as  could  compare  "  with  the  shepherdess  from 
Dresden,  and  quoted  what  Leigh  Hunt  once  said 
of  Lady  Houghton,  that  "  her  smile  was  like  a 
piece  of  good  news." 

"  Where  did  you  meet  her  first  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  At  Briggs's  last  season,  sitting  half-veiled,  and 
thinking  delicate  thoughts,"  whimpered  the  lover. 

"  On  what  occasion  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  At  the  great  autumn  opening  in  the  rooms  at 
our  well-known  corner,"  sobbed  the  pitcher. 

"  And  you  never  expect  to  see  her  again  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"Never!"  plaintively  snuffled  the  pitcher. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  I  questioned. 

"  Because  she  was  bought  and  carried  away  by  a 
different  purchaser,  on  the  very  day  I  myself  was 
sold  to  you,"  inwardly  groaned  the  pitcher. 


A   CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER.  321 

"  Were  you  born  in  the  same  country,  you  and 
the  shepherdess?  "  I  asked. 

"  No.  She  was  a  German,  and  I  am  a  native  of 
Albion." 

"What  part  of  England  did  you  emigrate 
from  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  From  pleasant  Worcestershire,  and  I  come  of 
one  of  the  oldest  Pitcher  families  in  that  part  of 
the  country,"  responded  my  companion. 

"And  how  did  it  happen,"  I  asked,  "that  so 
handsome  a  pitcher  as  yourself  should  never  have 
found  a  purchaser  until  now  ?  According  to  your 
own  story,  you  must  have  remained  on  the  prem- 
ises several  years." 

"  Thereby  hangs  a  tale,  —  indeed,  half  a  dozen 
tales,"  said  the  pitcher,  "  but  I  will  not  bore  you 
with  any  of  them.  It  is  a  sufficient  answer  to  your 
question  for  me  to  reply  that  I  was  bought  and 
paid  for,  a  long  time  ago,  by  a  forgetful  stranger, 
who  said  he  "  would  call  for  me  in  the  spring," 
and  neglected  to  show  himself  in  the  warehouse 
again.  (He  was  probably  lost  at  sea,  and  par- 


322  A   CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER. 

taken  of  by  sharks.)  So  I  was  set  up  on  a  shelf, 
with  a  label  hung  around  my  neck  announcing  that 
I  was  '  Sold.'  As  years  went  by,  the  placard 
fell  to  pieces,  and  here  I  am,  an  innocent  fraud, 
having  twice  been  paid  for,  and  't  is  nobody's  fault 
either ! "  Here  the  pitcher  looked  serious,  and 
glanced  anxiously  up  and  down  the  apartment. 

Promising  that  I  would  do  my  utmost  to  restore 
if  possible  the  lost  shepherdess  with  the  pink 
crook,  or  her  equivalent,  to  her  despairing  friend, 
the  pitcher  grew  calmer,  and  threw  out  hints  that 
much  valuable  matter  could  be  had  from  under  its 
handsome  wig  and  old-time  hat,  provided  .a  good 
listener  could  be  found.  Announcing  myself  as 
that  particular  individual,  the  pitcher  proceeded  to 
pour  out  information  copiously.  And  really,  there 
was  no  end  to  the  multifarious  lore  that  well- 
posted,  voluble  piece  of  pottery  saw  fit  to  convey 
to  me  as  we  sat  together  that  stormy  evening.  Hav- 
ing heard  a  thousand  questions  asked  and  answered 
on  the  premises  at  the  old  corner  warehouse,  he 
(I  must  now  give  him  a  gender  far  removed  from 


A   CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER.  323 

the  neuter)  had  stored  away  under  his  ample 
cocked  hat  a  world  of  matter  appertaining  to  the 
treasures  so  profusely  scattered  around  him.  Get- 
ting fairly  warmed  up,  he  launched  out  for  a  full 
hour,  and  he  began,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect,  in 
this  confidential  manner. 

.  "  If  you  and  I  had  the  time,  master,  there  is  no 
end  to  what  I  could  tell  you  about  myself  and 
my  companions  at  Briggs's.  Indeed,  if  it  comes 
to  what  I  know  of  that  establishment,  I  could  di- 
vulge a  great  deal  concerning  the  proprietor  him- 
self, —  an  adventurous  voyager  who  for  many 
years  has 

"  '  Hoisted  his  sail  to  every  beckoning  port 

Where  beauteous  forms  in  crystal  caverns  dwell.' 

I  know  all  about  his  numerous  trips  across  the 
ocean,  and  his  persistent  travels  into  strange  lands 
in  pursuit  of  ornamental  and  useful  articles. 
Why,  there  is  not  an  out-of-the-way  place,  either 
in  Great  Britain  or  on  the  whole  continent  of  Eu- 
rope, where  such  things  exist,  which  he  has  not 
explored,  and  rifled  of  treasures,  old  and  new,  in 


324  A  CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER. 

glass  and  China  ware.  Think  of  him  every  year, 
sometimes  twice  during  the  twelve  months,  div- 
ing down  into  the  depths  of  the  Danube  ;  coming 
up  like  a  porpoise  in  Trieste ;  flying  onward  to 
Venice  (if  porpoises  have  wings)  ;  and  then  on  to 
Paris,  stopping  by  the  way  at  Limoges,  Gien,  and 
Nevers  ;  then  turning  up  at  Nancy,  Sevres,  Bourg 
la  Reine,  and  fifty  other  quaint  old  towns  full  of 
interest  and  factories.  He  is  as  much  at  home  in 
Carlsbad,  Hamburg,  Lubec,  and  Copenhagen,  to 
say  nothing  of  Berlin,  Leipsic,  and  Dresden,  as  he 
is  in  his  own  counting-room  at  the  old  corner. 
When  he  quietly  walks  into  Minton's,  or  Cope- 
land's  or  Wedgwood's,  twice  or  three  times  a  year, 
all  the  pottery  families  nod  to  each  other  and 
smile  a  welcome,  as  much  as  to  say :  '  There 's 
Briggs  again !  How  well  the  voyage  has  agreed 
with  him,  tc  be  sure  ! '  " 

The  pitcher  had  much  to  tell  me  of  the  antiq- 
uity of  the  establishment  at  the  corner  from  which 
lie  had  graduated,  boasting  that  since  1708  it  had 
been  the  noted  home  of  China,  stone,  and  glass 


A  CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHED.  325 

ware,  supplying  not  only  all  the  old  Boston  fami- 
lies with  necessaries  and  luxuries,  but  many  dwell- 
ers in  Cambridge,  Charlestown,  Dorchester,  and 
Roxbury.  " Indeed,"  said  the  pitcher,  "it  would 
be  hard  to  say  where  in  the  North,  South,  East, 
and  "West  of  these  United  States  you  will  not  find 
some  of  our  goods."  (Our  goods  !) 

Living  so  near  the  Old  South  Church,  and  the 
famous  Book-shop  opposite,  was  also  a  matter  of 
special  jubilation  with  him.  He  had  "  heard  the 
chimes  at  midnight "  from  that  lofty  belfry  many 
and  many  a  year,  and  he  hoped  the  sacred  edifice 
of  Liberty  would  be  saved  from  the  hands  of  the 
spoiler.  He  thought  if  the  worst  should  happen, 
that  the  old  bell  would  surely  ring  out  its  sorrow 
to  the  steeple  in  Milton's  own  words  and  peal 
aloud  to  the  spire  these  heart-breaking  lines,  in 
tones  that  all  might  hear  :  — 

"  How  shall  we  part  and  wander  down 
Into  a  lower  world !  " 

As  for  the  old  Book-store  on  the  opposite  cor- 
ner, his  memory  was  sown  with  anecdotes.  He 


326  A   CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER. 

had  seen  processions  of  authors  wander  iu  and 
out  of  the  premises  ;  and  the  figures  of  Webster, 
Choate,  Otis,  Longfellow,  Holmes,  Prescott,  Ban- 
croft, Winthrop,  Hawthorne,  Emerson,  "Whittier, 
and  the  rest,  were  familiar  forms  to  him.  He  re- 
membered to  have  espied  Thackeray  once  chaf- 
fing with  a  friend  in  the  door-way,  and  "  his  great 
hearty  laugh,"  said  the  pitcher,  "  cleared  the  air 
like  a  strong  west  wind." 

There  was  no  end  to  the  celebrities  the  pitcher 
had  seen  in  his  "  own  shop,"  as  he  called  it,  during 
the  years  he  had  been  an  occupant  of  it.  He  re- 
membered watching  Jenny  Lind  as  she  selected 
many  useful  and  pretty  articles  out  of  the  stock,  in 
1851.  Charles  Sumner,  he  said,  could  never  get 
round  the  corner  without  dropping  in  to  admire 
and  select  from  the  new  importations ;  and  a  cer- 
tain eloquent  clergyman  from  another  city,  finding 
the  shop  too  attractive  for  the  brevity  of  his  purse, 
always  told  the  clerk  at  the  Parker  House  to  give 
him  a  room  as  far  removed  from  Briggs's  gallery 
of  treasures  as  possible,  the  temptation  to  ruin 


A   CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER.  327 

himself  being  too   strong  for  a  chance  proximity 
to  that  establishment. 

The  pitcher.  I  soon  found,  had  high  notions  of 
his  own  place  in  the  world.  "  Consider  for  a  mo- 
ment," said  he,  "  what  goes  to  make  up  a  hand- 
some article  like  myself!  The  clays  of  Dorset,  the 
flints  of  Kent,  the  granite  of  Cornwall,  the  lead  of 
Montgomery,  the  manganese  of  Warwickshire,  the 
soda  of  Cheshire,  and  many  other  matters,  must 
all  be  brought  from  their  various  districts,  and 
•combined  to  produce  a  full-grown  pitcher  of  my 
distinctive  character.  Why,  that  common  ugly 
mug,  standing  here  under  my  nose,  goes  through 
fourteen  hands  before  it  is  ready  for  use !  There 
is  the  Slip-maker  who  makes  the  clay ;  the  Tem- 
perer  who  beats  the  clay  ;  the  Thrower  who  forms 
the  ware  ;  the  Ball-maker  and  Carrier ;  the  At- 
tendant upon  the  drying  of  it ;  the  Turner  who 
takes  off  its  roughness ;  the  Spout-maker ;  the 
Handler,  who  puts  on  the  handle  and  spout;  the 
First  or  Biscuit  Fireman  ;  the  one  who  immerses 
or  dips  it  into  the  lead  fluid  ;  the  Second  or  Gloss 


328  A  CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER. 

Fireman ;  the  Dresser  or  Sorter  in  the  warehouse ; 
the  Enameller  or  Painter ;  and  the  Muffle  or 
Enamel  Fireman." 

It  was  really  wonderful,  the  learning  of  that 
pitcher;  and  as  to  his  memory,  I  never  knew  any- 
thing like  it.  To  hear  his  technical  remarks  about 
Maiolica,  Fayence,  Porcelain,  and  Enamel,  both 
Medieval  and  Modern,  was  indeed  a  rich  treat. 
He  had  enchanting  stories  to  tell  me  of  the  artists 
who  had  worked  in  Venice,  Padua,  Milan,  Vero- 
na, Valencia,  and  other  noted  cities  of  Europe ; 
and  ns  to  Bernard  Palissy  of  Perigord,  he  had  so 
much  to  say  of  him  that  his  prolixity  on  the  great 
French  potter  became  at  last  a  little  tedious.  He 
launched  out  very  strong  on  tiles,  and  his  knowl- 
edge of  Delft  ware  was  astounding.  What  he  had 
to  say  about  the  Wedgwoods  was  most  curious, 
and  his  anecdotes  of  that  celebrated  family  were 
all  of  an  instructive  character. 

But  I  was  most  pleased,  perhaps,  with  what  the 
pitcher  had  to  tell  me  of  his  companions  and 
friends  with  whom  he  had  associated  for  a  longer 


A   CONVERSATIONAL   PITCHER.  329 

or  shorter  time  at  the  "  old  corner."  His  own 
words  will  best  describe  some  of  them,  and  I  will 
here  give  them,  as. nearly  as  I  can  recall  his  fluent 
sentences. 

"  The  occupants  of  some  of  our  shelves,"  said 
he,  "  were  greatly  '  stuck  up,'  and  never  entered 
into  conversation  with  any  of  us  who  happened  to 
be  placed  lower  down  and  nearer  the  ground. 
The  subject  of  locality  was  discussed  one  night 
by  several  conversible  teapots,  and  one  of  them 
made  us  all  laugh  immoderately  over  the  anecdote 
of  an  Irish  wag,  who,  on  being  asked  in  what  part 
of  a  tenement-house  he  resided,  informed  the  in- 
quirer that  if  the  building  were  turned  upside  down 
he  would  be  on  the  first  floor  ! 

"  Sometimes  we  compared  notes,  and  it  was 
often  curious  to  observe  the  difference  in  feeling 
between  a  China  and  a  glass  article.  One  is  apt 
to  be  difficult  to  see  through;  the  other  is  per- 
fectly transparent  always.  I  made  it  a  study, 
while  in  the  warehouse,  to  observe  closely  every 
day  the  varieties  of  character  on  our  shelves  ;  and 


330  A   CONVERSATIONAL   PITCHER. 

I  assure  you  they  were  worth  the  time  and  pa- 
tience I  gave  them.  There  were  two  aristocratic 
soup-tureens,  born  in  Sevres  during  the  Empire, 
whose  pretensions  would  have  interested  and 
amused  you.  They  never  doffed  their  domes  to 
anybody,  great  or  small.  When  Dom  Pedro 
dropped  in  among  us  one  day,  and  the  rest  of  us 
were  all  in  a  tremble,  they  remained  covered  and 
calm  during  the  whole  royal  visit !  His  Majesty 
was  so  taken  with  their  regal  bearing  that  he 
bought  them  both. 

"  We  had  for  several  weeks  on  our  shelf  a  fine 
old  specimen  of  Berlin  ware,  in  the  shape  of  Fred- 
eric the  Great.  He  was  a  wonderfully  gay  speci- 
men, to  be  sure,  and  so  natural  that  he  constantly 
put  on  airs  and  mistook  himself  for  the  real  article. 
He  would  frequently  begin  a  story  with  '  When  I 
was  with  the  army  in  Mollwitz,'  or,  'About  the 
time  of  my  first  Silesian  campaign.'  One  night, 
when  he  was  more  than  usually  imperial,  he  put  us 
all  in  good  humor  by  relating  this  remarkable 
story,  which  I  regret  I  cannot  give  you  in  his  own 


A   CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER.  331 

lofty  manner.  He  said  that  one  of  his  ruling  pas- 
sions was  to  form  his  regiments  of  tall  men,  the 
more  gigantic  in  size  the  better,  and  that  he  spared 
no  expense  to  obtain  them  in  all  parts  of  Europe. 
One  day,  as  he  was  riding  in  the  vicinity  of  Ber- 
lin, unattended,  and  in  very  homely  costume,  he 
noticed  a  young  female  of  enormous  stature  at 
work  in  the  fields.  She  was  nearly  seven  feet 
high,  and  finely  proportioned,  and  Frederic  in- 
stantly conceived  the  idea,  if  she  were  a  single 
woman,  of  marrying  her  to  a  soldier  of  great 
height,  and  breadth  of  shoulders,  for  surely,  he 
thought,  their  children  would  be  of  extraordinary 
size.  Dismounting,  he  accosted  the  peasant  girl, 
and  learning  that  she  was  only  nineteen  and  un- 
married, he  wrote  these  lines  to  the  colonel  of  his 
guard  :  'You  are  to  marry  the  bearer  of  this  note 
with  the  tallest  of  my  grenadiers.  Let  the  cere- 
mony be  performed  immediately  in  your  presence. 
You  must  be  responsible  to  me  for  the  execution 
of  this  order.  'T  is  absolute,  and  the  least  delay 
will  make  you  criminal  in  my  sight.'  He  then 


332  A   CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER. 

handed  the  letter  to  the  young  woman,  who  was 
of  course  ignorant  of  its  contents,  gave  her  a  hand- 
some sum  of  money,  and  bade  her  deliver  the  mis- 
sive according  to  directions  without  loss  of  time, 
as  it  was  of  special  importance.  The  girl,  suppos- 
ing it  to  be  a  matter  of  indifference  whether  the 
letter  was  delivered  by  herself  or  by  another,  so 
long  as  it  reached  its  destination,  handed  it  over 
to  an  old  woman,  who  happened  to  be  going  in 
the  direction  of  the  army,  telling  her  to  be  sure 
and  give  it  into  the  colonel's  own  hand.  The 
old  woman  faithfully  performed  the  charge.  The 
colonel,  on  looking  at  the  aged  female,  was 
amazed  at  the  contents  of  the  paper,  but  the  order 
was  so  peremptory  he  dared  not  disobey  it.  He 
thought  perhaps  the  tall  grenadier  had  committed 
some  offence,  and  that  the  Emperor  chose  to  pun- 
ish him  in  this  manner.  The  marriage  was  at 
once  performed,  the  stalwart  soldier  bemoaning  his 
cruel  fate,  and  the  old  woman  exulting  with  joy  at 
her  good  fortune.  Some  time  afterwards,  Fred- 
eric desired  to  see  the  couple  he  had  ordered  into 


A   CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER.  333 

wedlock  thus  summarily,  and  on  looking  at  the 
elderly  diminutive  female,  demanded  with  rage  an 
explanation.  The  aged  bride  confessed  the  truth 
as  to  how  she  became  the  '  bearer  of  dispatches,' 
and  raising  her  eyes  to  heaven  thanked  Provi- 
dence for  conferring  on  her  so  unexpected  and 
acceptable  a  benefit !  "  (Here  the  pitcher  nearly 
choked  with  laughter  at  the  recollection  of  crock- 
ery Frederic's  discomfiture.) 

"  Sometimes  when  morning  dawned  in  our  room, 
our  eyes  were  greeted  with  fresh  arrivals  over- 
night, and  we  were  greatly  amused  at  the  new- 
comers. I  remember  how  we  tittered  all  to  our- 
selves one  day,  after  there  had  been  a  great  lot  of 
grotesque  teapots  set  up  on  the  shelves  in  our 
apartment.  A  Parian  Cupid  was  so  convulsed  at 
the  sight  of  one  of  these  quaint  articles  that  he 
nearly  shed  a  wing  during  his  hilarious  paroxysm. 
A  butter-boat  came  very  near  upsetting  in  its  mirth 
over  the  perked-up  nose  of  the  same  article.  It 
was  an  English  teapot,  rather  conceited  on  ac- 
count of  its  pattern,  and  it  expressed  its  contempt 


334  A   CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER. 


for  the  land  to  which  it  had  emigrated,  by  ob- 
serving dryly  to  the  company  that  England  con- 
sumes annually  two  hundred  million  pounds  of  tea, 
while  America  only  drinks  fifty  million  pounds  in 
a  year!  At  this  remark,  a  Wedgwood  waterpot 
fairly  cracked  in  two  places,  with  national  pride. 

"  I  have  been  greatly  amused,"  continued  the 
pitcher,  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  "at  the  procras- 
tinating folly  of  ;your  tribe.'  A  rare  or  unique 
article  ought  not  to  be  trifled  with  by  delay.  How 
many  a  bosom  have  I  seen  torn  with  anguish  from 
neglect  to  secure  a  precious  piece  of  China  at 
the  right  moment !  1 1  will  call  in  to-morrow,'  or 
'  next  week,'  has  wrecked  the  happiness  of  many 
a  deferring  heart.  In  the  presence  of  keramic 
treasures,  it  is  always  well  to  remember  Dante's 
awful  line  :  — 

"  '  Think  that  To-Day  \vill  never  dawn  again ! '  " 

Somehow,  I  knew  not  how,  the  pitcher  had  be- 
come acquainted  with  the  sonnets  of  Shakespeare, 
and  was  very  fond  of  illustrating  his  remarks  on 
the  beautiful  objects  by  which  he  had  been  so  long 


A   CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER.  336 

surrounded,  with  lines  from  the  great  master  of 
English  poetry.  I  took  note,  among  others,  of  his 
apt  use  of  the  line  :  — 

"  A  liquid  prisoner  pent  in  walls  of  glass." 
And  speaking  of  the  superior  tint  on  the  damask 
cheek  of  a  belle  in  delicate  China,  he  added : 

"Such  heavenly  touches  ne'er  touched  earthly  faces." 
Discoursing  of  the  frailty  of  human  loveliness  in 
youth,  he  drew  a  striking  parallel  between  that 
and  the  permanent  gloss  of  health  on  the  face  of 
his  Dresden  shepherdess,  deepening  his  preference 
by  quoting :  — 

"  But  thine  eternal  summer  shall  not  fade." 
One  of  his  quotations  to  express,  according  to  his 
belief,  the  superiority  of  art  over  nature,  I  well  re- 
member.   It  was  this  line  from  the  35th  sonnet:  — 

"Roses  have  thorns,  and  silver  fountains  mud." 
And  it  struck  me  as  a  very  droll  argument  entirely 
in  favor  of  the  pitcher's  idea  of  a  prior  excellence 
in  China  and  glass. 

I  soon  discovered  that  the  pitcher  had  a   pro- 


336  A   CONVERSATIONAL   PITCHER. 

found  admiration  for  the  master  of  the  establish- 
ment, and  insisted  that  the  proprietor  ought  to 
have  a  distinctive  prefix  to  accompany  his  name, 
just  as  we  say  the  "admirable  Crichton,"  the  "gen- 
tle Shakespeare,"  the  "  judicious  Hooker,"  and  the 
"  venerable  Bede."  The  pitcher  declared  it  to  be 
his  opinion  that  Mr.  Briggs  had  won  a  prescriptive 
right  by  this  time  to  an  original  prelusory  adjec- 
tive, and  wished  me  to  ask  the  brilliant  author  of 
"  Syrian  Sunshine  "  to  invent  one  for  that  purpose. 
I  ventured  to  suggest  "  square-rigged  "  as  a  good 
preliminary;  but  the  pitcher,  not 'being  nautically 
bred,  thought  there  were  resources  in  the  diction- 
ary to  supply  a  neater  prelude  than  that  to  the 
name  he  wished  to  honor.  This  led  up  to  the  sub- 
ject of  reputations  generally,  the  pitcher  declaring 
that  biography  in  many  cases  was  only  a  rank  con- 
spiracy against  truth ;  but  I  was  glad  to  hear  him 
mention  some  charming  exceptions  among  certain 
Boston  people  he  had  known,  notably  this  one : 
He  said  that  when  Jonas  Chickering  died,  a  well- 
known  witty  person  uttered  the  charming  eulogy, 


A   CONVERSATIONAL  PITCHER.  337 

that  Mr.  Chickering's  character  was  like  his  pianos, 
—  square,  upright,  and  grand. 

"  I -never  heard  anything  better  said  than  that," 
I  exclaimed. 

"  Or  truer,"  said  the  pitcher. 

At  this  point  my  conversational  friend  nodded  a 
"  good-night,"  and  I  took  the  hint  and  niy  candle 
without  further  ceremony.  I  do  not  know  when 
I  have  been  so  entertained  by  a  piece  of  clay, 
human  or  potter's,  as  I  had  been  that  evening ;  and 
as  we  were  both  originally  formed,  I  am  told,,  of 
the  same  humble  material,  it  was  very  pleasant 
thus  to  hob-nob  over  a  blazing  fire,  on  a  stormy 
night  in  December,  with  such  an  uncommonly 
well-informed  and  loyal-hearted  companion. 


ABIJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE  EXPERIENCE, 


ABIJAH    DOLE'S    FREE-LECTURE 
EXPERIENCE. 


JXE  evening  after  supper,  at  the  "Re- 
treat for  Superannuated  Speakers,"  the 
venerable  Mr.  Dole,  on  being  requested 
to  "  favor  the  company,"  lighted  his  pipe  and  nar- 
rated the  following  adventure  to  his  aged  brethren. 
A  "  Society  for  the  Relief  of  Hydrophobia  Pa- 
tients," in  a  well-known  philanthropic  community, 
had  been  running  a  mad  career  of  pecuniary  losses 
for  several  months,  when  it  was  resolved  by  the 
officers  of  that  praiseworthy  association  to  "get 
up "  a  course  of  lectures  for  the  benefit  of  the 
"  Fund,"  as  it  was  called.  So  far  as  possible  the 


342          ABIJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

lecturers  were  to  be  popular  speakers,  were  to 
receive  no  emolument  for  their  services,  but  were 
to  appear  in  East  Nineveh  on  "  labors  of  love,"  as 
such  gratuitous  performances  are  somewhat  flor- 
idly designated. 

When  the  Honorable  Secretary  called  on  me  to 
join  the  corps  of  distinguished  martyrs  chosen  to 
aid  the  "  Fund,"  I  peremptorily  declined  to  serve, 
on  the  ground  that,  unlike  Messrs.  Phillips  and 
Gough,  I  was  neither  popular  nor  distinguished, 
and  because  my  name  would  attract  no  money  out 
of  the  public  pocket  into  the  society's  coffers.  The 
•H.  S.  smiled,  and  immediately  entered  my  humble 
cognomen  on  his  tablets  as  if  I  had  fully  consented 
to  his  request.  He  was  a  deaf  gentleman,  and 
had,  no  doubt,  been  selected  because  of  his  infir- 
mityf  to  canvas  for  free  lecturers,  not  being  able, 
or  willing  perhaps,  to  hear  distinctly  when  a  nega- 
tive was  returned  to  his  application. 

"  I  will  put  you  down,"  said  he,  in  that  muffled, 
feathery  tone  so  peculiar  to  deaf  people,  "  for  the 
21st  of  January." 


ABU  AH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE.  343 

Before  I  could  explain  my  decided  intention  of 
refusing  the  invitation,  be  got  into  his  hat  with  a 
bounce,  and  departed,  thanking  me  most  cordially 
for  acceding  to  his  request.  I  called  after  him  in 
vain;  he  was  gone  irrevocably  into  space,  flying 
rapidly  toward  East  Nineveh. 

Talking  the  matter  over  with  my  wife  that  even- 
ing after  tea,  she  strenuously  advised  me  to  be 
magnanimous,  and  "  go  and  do  my  share  "  of  lect- 
uring for  the  funds  in  aid  of  so  noble  an  object. 
After  a  somewhat  animated  discussion  concerning 
hydrophobia  and  its  appalling  effects  on  the  human 
system  when  attacked  by  a  rabid  cur,  I  determined 
not  to  shirk  my  duty,  and  proceeded  to  inscribe 
the  following  entry  on  my  lecture  note-book  ;  Jan- 
uary 21,  —  East  Nineveh.  Free  lecture  in  behalf 
of  the  Hydrophobia  Fund. 

The  evening  came  :  a  wild  snow-stormy  night  as 
ever  shrouded  a  New  England  landscape.  Chim- 
neys howled  like  wolves  on  Oonalaska's  shore. 
Signs  danced,  screamed,  and  blew  away  by  hun- 
dreds down  the  street.  .ZEolus  was  in  his  glory : 
all  Bedlam  was  indeed  "  let  out." 


344          ABU  AH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

The  exact  phraseology  employed  as  I  shivered 
into  my  lecture  raiment  on  that  occasion  it  is  un- 
necessary to  reproduce  in  this  narrative ;  but  it  is 
no  exaggeration  to  state  that  my  mind  was  in  a 
disaffected  condition,  and  that  I  did  not  hanker 
after  the  journey  to  East  Nineveh  on  that  partic- 
ular night.  Calling  a  carriage  for  the  railroad 
station,  I  started  out  on  my  mission  to  swell  the 
"  Hydrophobia  Fund "  in  a  distant  province,  an 
unknown  land,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned.  Two 
hours  of  hard  travelling  by  the  aid  of  snow-ploughs 
landed  me  before  a  low-spirited  dingy  little  station, 
which  the  conductor  denominated  "  East  Nineveh." 
Stumbling  out  of  the  comparatively  cheerful  car 
into  the  thick  fury  of  a  winter  tempest,  I  made  my 
way  into  the  road-side  dungeon.  Not  a  human  be- 
ing was  visible,  inside  or  out  of  it.  Opening  the 
door  at  the  other  end  of  the  sepulchral  apartment, 
I  called  loudly  for  help.  Only  the  hollow  blast  of 
stormy  winds  responded.  At  last  a  passer-by, 
nearly  suffocated  by  the  hurricane  of  sleet,  halted, 
and  asked,  "What  ye  want  in  there?"  I  ex- 


ABIJAH  DOLE'S   FREE  LECTURE.          345 

plained,  as  well  as  a  mouthful  of  snow  would  allow 
an  attempt  at  speech,  that  I  had  come  to  lecture  in 
hehalf  of  the  Hydrophobia  Fund  at  East  Nineveh. 

"  Oh,  that 's  in  the  upper  village,"  said  he,  "  a 
mile  and  a  half  from  here." 

"  How  can  I  get  there  ?  " 

"  Dunno,"  replied  the  man,  and  vanished  into 
what  Emerson  calls  "  a  tumultuous  privacy  of 
storm." 

For  a  moment  I  was  amused  at  the  stolid  un- 
sympathy  of  this  man  with  my  stranded  condition, 
and  could  not  help  muttering  to  myself  Beauclerc's 
words  when  some  one  told  him  that  a  certain 
gentleman  in  London  had  "excellent  principles." 
"  Yes,"  said  B.,  u  but  he  seems  inclined  not  to 
wear  them  out  in  practice." 

All  the  terrors  of  my  situation  now  grimly  set- 
tled down  upon  me.  The  thought  that  I  was  on  a 
/ree-lecture  expedition  made  me  writhe  keenly.  If 
even  a  moderate  fee  were  in  expectancy,  the  horror 
of  the  scene  around  might  have  been  mitigated. 
But  here  I  was,  "  afar  in  the  desert,"  without  a  ray 


346          ABIJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

of  prospective  remuneration,  and  all  expenses  of 
travel  to  be  borne  by  myself.  The  predicament 
was  not  only  forlorn,  it  was  repulsive. 

The  vicious  northeaster  went  on  becoming  more 
and  more  sharp  and  boisterous.  The  snow  fell 
like  volleys  of  shot  on  the  little  station,  now  half 
buried  in  drifts.  Leaning  against  the  window-sill, 
I  recalled  these  terribly  graphic  lines  of  an  Eoglish 
poet. 

"  'Tis  a  wild  night  out  of  doors ; 
The  wind  is  mad  upon  the  moors, 
And  comes  into  the  rocking  town, 
Stabbing  all  things,  up  and  down." 

Ghosts  of  all  the  departed  storms  that  had  ever 
ravaged  East  Nineveh  in  bygone  winters  hoarsely 
"muttered  their  savage  spells  up  and  down  the 
freezing  apartment  where  I  stood  in  gloom,  and 
listened  for  relief.  I  thought  of  my  own  warm 
fireside,  miles  away  ;  of  the  ruddy  glow  of  comfort 
lighting  up  the  cheery  brass  andirons ;  of  the 
happy  piano  sending  out  merry  music  to  the  fly- 
ing feet  of  youth  and  beauty ;  of  the  songs  in 


ABIJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE.          347 

praise  of  love  and  country  which  I  knew  would 
close  the  jocund  evening. 

"  Stung  with  the  thoughts  of  home,"  as  the  Sea- 
son-able Thomson  expresses  it,  I  could  bear  no 
longer  the  bitter  solitude  of  that  receptacle  of  woe, 
the  station,  and  I  again  opened  the  door  a  little. 
The  gruff  growler  outside  was  busier  than  ever, 
burying  up  the  universe.  "  Keep  where  you  are," 
he  seemed  to  say,  "  or  I  '11  include  you  in  the  ob- 
sequies." 

Suddenly  the  distant  sound  of  sleigh-bells  stirred 
the  buzzing  air  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  tink- 
ling music  faded  away.  Listening  intently,  I  again 
detected  the  welcome  sound,  and  evidently  ap- 
proaching nearer.  Perhaps  they  were  only  ghostly 
bells,  like  those  described  by  De  Quincey  in  his 
opium  visions ! 

An  open  sleigh  with  a  mortal  in  it,  by  all  that 
is  transporting !  Hailing*  the  icicled  object,  I  re- 
counted my  alarming  situation,  and  hurriedly  told 
him  my  destiny. 

"  Ye  carnt  git  up  there  t'-night  ennyhow,  an'  ef 


348          ABU  AH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

ye  could,  there  wunt  be  no  ordnance  to  hear  ye, 
sich  a  night  as  this,"  drawled  the  man. 

I  implored  him  to  take  me  to  the  "  upper  vil- 
lage." 

"  What  be  ye  willin'  to  pay  ? "  demanded  the 
stranger,  with  an  emphatic  accent  on  the  last  word 
in  his  query. 

"  Any  price  /"  I  shouted  through  the  storm,  and 
hope  came  bounding  into  my  bosom  at  the  half 
willingness  implied  in  the  traveller's  question. 

"Wa'al,"  said  he,  sluggishly  but  business-like, 
"bundle  in,  and  I  '11  kerry  ye.  It's  a  good  piece 
out  o'  my  way,  but  I  '11  dew  it." 

Off  we  started.  It  seemed  a  night's  journey,  as 
we  went  on,  butting  forward  into  the  tempest  to- 
ward the  upper  village.  My  companion  was  of  the 
speechless  gender,  a  man  of  few  words,  but  those 
few  were  to  the  point  in  hand. 

u  Let 's  see  —  we  didrt  't  fix  on  no  amaount  afore 
we  started,  did  we,  mister  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  but  you  may  make  your  own 
terms." 


ABTJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE.          349 

"  Wa'al,"  said  he,  "  considerin*  the  snow  and  the 
cold,  s'pose  we  settle  on  abaout  tew  dollars  for  the 
ride  up  to  the  upper  village  ?  I  wouldn't  a'  kerned 
ye  there  at  all  ef  ye  warn't  a-goin'  to  speak  for  the 
good  o'  the  cause,  free  gratis  for  nothin'." 

"All  right,"  I  exclaimed,  triumphantly.  "Move 
on  as  fast  as  possible,  my  friend,  and  let  us  get  to 
the  upper  village,  if  you  please,  as  soon  as  we  can, 
for  I  am  already  half  frozen." 

A  pause  on  the  stranger's  part,  and  then : 
a  Come  to  think  on 't,  the  critter's  feet  gits  so 
balled  up  to-night,  I  raly  don't  know  but  the  job  's 
worth  tew  fifty." 

"  Go  on,"  I  ejaculated ;  "  you  shall  have  the 
money." 

The  horse  stumbled  and  fell  so  often  he  must 
have  been  subject  to  rapid  epileptic  fits.  Once  I 
thought  we  had  lost  him  forever,  but  he  got  up 
again,  and  proceeded  waveringly  over  the  road.  I 
ventured  to  ask  if  the  animal  ever  shied,  and  the 
man's  reply  is  worth  remembering.  In  a  low  and 
baleful  tone  he  said :  "  Don't  ye  never  make  no 


350          ABIJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

remarks  abaout  a  boss  bebind  his  back  when  he  's 
present.  He  hears  every  word  ye  say,  and  if  he 
finds  ye  're  skeered  on  him,  he  '11  take  advantage 
on  ye.  If  yer  late  observation  struck  him  onfavor- 
able,  like  's  not  he  '11  cut  up  and  shy  like  a  balloon. 
Should  n't  wonder  ef  he  'd  tear  everything  all  to 
pieces.  Be  keerful  of  yer  commentaries  about 
dumb  critters  when  they  are  'raound,  except  so  fur 
as  yer  remarks  is  complimentary.  A  boss's  ears  is 
allers  keyed  up  to  git  yer  opinion  on  him,  good  or 
bad." 

The  ride  seemed  entering  on  the  confines  of 
eternity.  Should  we  ever  get  there  ?  Every 
moment  I  thought  myself  nearing  the  north  pole, 
as  the  wind  cut  like  revolving  razors,  and  the  snow 
rattled  like  so  many  needles  all  about  my  neck. 
My  garments  were  ineffectual  to  keep  out  the 
plunging  elements,  and  when  we  did  arrive  at  last, 
and  I  fumbled  out  the  u  tew  fifty,"  I  was  more 
dead  than  alive. 

"  Wish  ye  well,"  said  the  eye-teeth-cutting  man 
in  the  sleigh,  and  drove  off  into  the  storm  again, 
homeward-bound. 


ABIJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE.  351 

And  now  it  was  distinctly  my  business  to  enter 
the  torpid-looking  little  building  before  which  the 
man  had  dumped  me,  and  begin  the  gratuitous  ser- 
vice of  the  evening.  It  was  some  time  before  I 
could  stand  firmly  up  against  the  winter  hurricane 
on  getting  out  of  the  sleigh,  my  legs  betraying  a 
hopeless  imbecility  I  had  never  noticed  in  them  be- 
fore. However,  after  a  little,  their  wonted  power 
came  back  slowly,  and  I  fought  my  entrance  for- 
ward into  the  structure,  where  I  was  destined  to 
speak  an  hour  in  behalf  of  the  "  Fund." 

"  Where  is  the  secretary  ?  "  I  inquired  of  the 
door-keeper,  who  was  stamping  his  feet  and  rub- 
bing his  fingers  to  that  extent  I  supposed  he  was 
frost-bitten  through  and  through. 

"  Dunno  who  ye  mean,"  faintly  replied  the  gelid 
janitor. 

"  "Well,"  said  I,  "  never  mind  :  I '11  walk  in,  as 
I  am  the  lecturer." 

"  Got  a  ticket?" 

"  No :  I  am  to  give  the  lecture.  I  am  Mr.  Dole, 
from  Boston." 


352          ABIJAR  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

"  Carn't  help  who  ye  be.  My  orders  is  strict  to 
let  nobody  in  without  er  ticket." 

"  What  is  the  price  of  one  ! "  I  meekly  inquired. 

"  Quarter,"  said  the  honest  door-keeper. 

And  I  paid  it  and  went  in. 

I  hope  I  spoke  earnestly  and  helpfully  to  that 
crowd  of  fifteen  deeply  depressed  listeners,  one  of 
whom  was  kind  enough  to  compliment  my  dis- 
course by  saying  to  me,  as  he  went  out  of  the  hall, 
"  It  warn't  quite  so  tejus  as  I  thought  't  would  be." 

How  was  the  interim  between  "  after  lecture  " 
and  "  bed-time  "  to  be  bridged  over  ?  There  was 
not  a  light  in  the  hotel  one  could  possibly  read  by, 
and  no  place  to  sit  down  in  except  the  "offis,"  as 
the  dingy  apartment  was  called  where  the  villagers 
assembled  in  the  evening  around  a  great  ill-odor- 
ous sheet-iron  stove  to  discuss  any  affairs  that 
might  arise  for  petty  controversy.  The  mere 
thought  of  my  bedroom  was  hateful  to  every  sense, . 
and  so  I  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and' 
anchor  in  the  "  offis  "  until  driven  up-stairs  for  the 
night. 


ABU  AH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE.          353 

The  company  gathered  there  was,  indeed,  a 
motley  one,  but  by  110  means  devoid  of  interest, 
An  old  teamster  clad  in  moth-eaten  raiment,  and 
whom  every  one  called  "Joe,"  sat  speechless, 
tipped  back  against  the  wall,  with  his  feet  thrust 
out  in  the  direction  of  the  stove,  but  too  far  away 
to  derive  any  comfort  from  it.  He  seemed  far 
gone  in  chronic  inebriety,  and  principally  occupied 
in  soothing  his  inflammatory  nose  with  the  butt 
end  of  his  cattle  goad.  Two  rough  men  with 
sharp  faces  sat  near  him,  bargaining  about  a  "  pair 
of  steers,"  the  amount  in  dispute  being  "  tew  dol- 
lars and  sixty-eight  cents."  A  boy  with  a  bad 
squint  in  both  eyes  (a  visual  peculiarity  I  had 
never  noticed  before)  stumped  in  at  intervals  and 
threw  wood  into  the  stove,  taking  care  always,  as 
he  went  out  of  the  room,  to  kick  a  weak  old  mas- 
tiff that  lay  sleeping  near  the  door.  When  I 
begged  him,  during  one  of  his  brief  visits  to  the 
"  offis,"  not  to  hurt  the  poor  beast,  he  told  me, 
with  an  East  Nineveh  malediction,  to  "  mind 
m'own  bizniz,  and  he  'd  mind  his'n."  Several  other 


354          ABIJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

persons,  with  more  or  Jess  distinctive  habits  and 
manners,  sat  smoking  around  the  stove,  but  none 
more  badly  eminent  than  a  six-foot  sallow-cheeked 
youth  who  wore  his  neckcloth  swinging  loose 
around  his  handsome  throat,  and  who  went  by 
the  name  of  "  Bung."  Whether  that  was  his  real 
name  or  only  a  derisive  one  I  do  not  know,  but 
a  more  conceited,  ignorant,  and  profane  varlet  I 
never  have  happened  to  be  in  company  with.  He 
attracted  much  attention  by  his  oaths  and  his 
watch-chain,  both  being  of  the  most  lurid  fashion. 
I  have  often  thought  of  him  since,  and  wondered 
where  at  last  he  met  his  "  pendulous  suffocation," 
as  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  in  his  grand  manner,  de- 
nominates hanging. 

The  landlord,  seeing  my  stranded  and  hopeless 
condition,  was  good  enough  to  hitch  up  a  seat  be- 
side me,  and  enter  into  conversation.  He  struck 
into  talk  rather  abruptly,  I  thought,  about "  floso- 
fy,"  but  I  saw  his  drift  at  once  when  he  made  this 
remark :  — 

"  I  'm  a  kind  ov  a  flosofer  myself,  folks  thinks 
raound  here." 


AB1JAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE.          355 

"  In  what  way,  Mr.  Todd  ?  " 

"  Wa'al,  Sir,  I  'm  a  great  study-er  ov  the  sac-rid 
books,  that  is  to  say,  I  'm  to  home  in  the  writin's  ov 
Scriptur'.  I  've  looked  into  them  subjicks  a  good 
deal,  I  hev.  Put  me  on  to  Romuns  or  Dootron- 
omy,  and  some  ov  them  other  old  anshunt  books, 
and  I  ken  hold  my  own.  Aour  new  min'ster  and 
me  gits  at  it  sometimes  on  a  p'int  o'  doctrin',  and 
'tween  us  both  we  make  the  fur  fly,  I  tell  yew. 
My  wife  sez  I  'm  gifted,  as  't  ware,  at  reconcilin' 
parsages  that  'pear  to  differ.  Aour  min'ster 's 
rather  up  and  dressed  on  the  Commandments,  but 
he's  green  and  colt-y  on  doctrin^  so  to  speak  ;  lie 
don't  go  daown  deep  enuf  fur  me."  A  pause,  and 
then,  with  a  burst  of  wisdom :  li  Paul 's  a  master- 
hand  ain't  he  ?  He  gin  it  to  'em  good  up  there 
on  Mars-es  Hill,  did  n't  he,  yew  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  doubt  whatever  about  that,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"  Took  'em  right  off  their  feet,  did  n't  he,  yew  ?  " 

I  assented  fully  to  the  complimentary  statement 
concerning  the  apostle. 


356          ABIJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

Here  the  landlord  was  called  away  to  give  some 
directions  about  shoeing  a  horse.  But  he  soon  re- 
turned, and  lolling  back  in  his  chair,  which  he 
again  placed  next  to  mine,  reopened  the  colloquy  : 
"  Ever  met  Prerfesser  Thrum,  —  'Lias  J.  ?  " 

"  I  never  have.     Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he 's  'a  geenyus  ;  one  o'  the  most  perfick 
guntleman  ye  ever  see ;  wears  gold  spetakles  and 
dimund  pin ;  highly  edyecated,  comes  of  a  good 
fam'ly,  and  jest  as  keen 's  a  brier." 

"  What  's  his  business  ?  " 

"  Preachin'  and  pillin',  mostly  ;  he  's  principal 
agent  for  the  Ben  Franklin  Self-Snpportin'  Pill, 
and  he  ex'orts  evenin's  when  he  's  travellin'.  The 
wimmin  folks  jest  goes  crazy  abaout  'Lias.  No 
discaount  on  'Lias  J.  Thrum,  I  tell  yew  !  Sings 
a  hymn  like  a  swoller.  Good  many  min'sters  is 
more  or  less  pester'd  in  prare,  but  'Lias  goes  rite 
'long,  as  if  nothin'  't  all  was  the  matter.  No 
hitchin'  and  coffin  to  him  when  he  's  ingaged  ; 
free 's  a  bird,  every  time." 

"  Is  he  a  good  speaker  ?  " 


ABU  AH  .DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE.          357 

"  The  most  sperritecl  ye  ever  lieered." 

"  Fine  voice  ?  " 

"  Clear  's  a  quill,  and  louder  'n  a  gun.  When 
the  winders  is  open  in  aour  schoolhouse,  where  he 
labors  frequent,  ennybody  t'  other  side  the  river 
ken  hear  him.  He  meks  things  jump,  I  tell  yew, 
when  he  gits  a-goin' !  " 

"  How  is  he  in  argument  ?  " 

"  Up  tew  enny  on  'em,  ye  may  depend.  Karnt 
ketch  'Lias  where  the  wool 's  short,  from  Genesiz 
to  Revulations.  Wish  ye  'd  heered  him  tackle  wun 
o*  yQre  Boston  transildentist  fellers  who  woz  up 
here'n  East  Nineveh  last  summer.  Fun  then,  I 
tell  yew.  There  warn't  a  piece  left  ov  that  Massi- 
chusitts  onbeliever  's  big  as  a  clozepin.  Sumb'dy 
said  that  air  radikel  hed  lost  his  mind.  'Lias  bust 
aout  larfin,  and  sez  he,  '  I  would  n't  pick  it  up  ef 
I  faound  it  layin'  raound  ennywhere.'  That 's 
'Lias  !  he  's  quick  's  a  flash.  He  's  barmy  Gilyud 
all  over,  and  a  big  dog  under  the  wagon  tew  boot, 
as  the  old  say  in'  is." 

"  Are  the  Ben  Franklin  pills  popular  in  this 
town  ?  " 


358          ABIJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

"  Yes,  Sir,  and  ev'ry  where  else,  tew.  Look 
here,  yew.  Jest  work  into  your  lecters  suthin 
baout  them  pills,  and  'Lias  '11  sartisfy  ye.  He 
would  n't  mind  payin'  ye  well  for  yer  trubble. 
Most  estouishin'  cures  them  pills's  brought  abouat ! 
Miss  "VYitkum,  daown  here  to  the  Four  Corners, 
could  n't  see  aout  ov  her  head  for  more'n  a  year, 
on  accaount  of  her  havin'  noorology  and  dispepsy 
both  to  wunce  on  the  spinel  marrer;  but  'Lias 
cured  her  up  with  cupple  o'  boxes  clean  's  a  wissel. 
Hiram  Perking's  teeth  was  all  a-gettin'  loose,  but 
a  box  and  harf  o'  the  Ben  Franklin  fixed  'em  in 
agin  tight 's  a  drum.  Hunderds  o'  cases  jest  like 
these  is  well  known  in  aour  caounty,  and  all  over 
the  United  States.  My  brother-in-law  'Rastus 
Frink  's  bin  in  ev'ry  port  in  the  world  'cept  Cali- 
forny,  and  he  sez  the  craowned  heads  in  Urtip  is 
naow  takin'  'em  evr'ywhere.  Wish  ye  could  hear 
the  Prerfesser,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  indorse  'Ras- 
tus's  statemunt !  " 

"  The  professor  believes  in  the  efficacy  of  the 
pills  he  is  dealing  in  so  largely,  I  suppose  ?  " 


ABIJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE.          359 

"  That 's  so,  and  well  he  may,  for  they  saved  his 
life  when  he  had  water  on  the  heart  so  bad." 

"  When  was  that  ?  " 

"Years  ago,  when  he  was  a  young  man,  com- 
paratively speakin'.  Let 's  see  :  he  was  tacted  with 
this  water  on  the  heart  when  he  was  sent 's  a  mis- 
sionerry  into  the  old  'Gypshun  country.  He  tells 
the  story  that  when  he  got  rort  up  a-speakiri'  to 
them  heathen  ladies  and  juntlemen  over  there  on 
the  bank  'f  the  Nile,  his  feelin's  was  tew  much  for 
his  strength,  and  so  this  water  sot  in,  fust  on  his 
chist.  Pooty  soon,  he  sez,  his  heart  gut  het  up 
and  went  to  bilin'.  If  ye  put  yer  ear  daown,  ye 
could  hear  it.  "Wa'al,  'Lias  spent  thaousands  o' 
dolluz,  callin'  in  the  doctors  near  and  fur.  No 
use  !  They  all  gin  him  up,  and  he  come  home  to 
die.  One  day  he  overheered  a  man  in  New  York 
say  the  Ben  Franklin  pills  was  shore  remedy  for 
water  on  the  heart,  and  'Lias  went  in  for  a  box  on 
'em  ;  kep'  takin'  box  arter  box,  and  at  the  end  o' 
the  fifteenth  or  sixteenth  box  (he  don't  naow  zactly 
remember  which  it  was),  he  begun  to  improve,  and 


360          ABIJAII  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

the  sizzlin'  stopt  inside  ov  him.  Out  o'  gratitood  he 
excepted  a  agency,  and  he  's  gone  on  introdoocin' 
them  pills  into  ev'ry  quarter  o'  the  known  globe. 
Turkey,  Prooshy,  Aysha,  Chiny,  everywhere  'most, 
he  's  introdooced  'em  by  word  o'  maouth.  When 
he  goes  aout  to  Ingey  he  allers  stops  at  the  pallis, 
and  all  the  high  priests  waits  on  him  abaout.  The 
grandees  thinks  ev'rything  on  him  aout  there  in 
Ingland  and  Rooshy.  It  's  good  's  a  play  to  hear 
'Lias  tell  over  his  travels  aout  there.  When  he 
went  to  Kanky-noo,  aout  in  Jappan,  more  'n  a 
hunderd  elefunts,  all  rigged  up  in  golden  jewills, 
walked  tew  and  tew  in  the  royle  percession  to 
meet  him  on  the  worf.  'Lias  sez  the  king's  family 
warnts  him  to  come  aout  there  and  settel,  but  he 
ruther  thinks  he  sharn't  dew  it  at  present.  He  's 
dreadfully  'tached  to  this  'ere  form  o'  guverment, 
but  he  may  alter  his  mind,  byme-by  and  pull 
up  stakes  agin.  Wish  ye  could  see  Prerfesser 
Thrum's  kleckshun  curositiz  he  gut  together  in 
Jrusltim  :  gut  a  leetle  piece  o'  Maount  Arrer-root 
mung  'em,  and  a  genowyne  lock  o'  hair  o'  the 


ABIJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE.          361 

prodigal  son.  One  the  most  valooble  things  he's 
gut 's  the  stun  that  killed  Goliar  ;  sez  he  woold  n't 
take  ten  thaousand  dolluz  for  it ;  bin  offered  nine 
by  the  British  guvment,  over  'n  over  agin." 

"  I  notice  you  call  Mr.  Thrum  Professor.  What 
is  he  professor  of?" 

"  .7?e-ligion  aud  doctorin'  mostly,  I  guess.  His 
keerd  runs,  '  Prerfesser  'Lias  J.  Thrum  —  the  Ben 
Franklin  Self-Supportin'  Pill,  wholesale  and  re- 
tail.'" 

Here  the  landlord  being  called  away  again,  a 
disordered,  unsavory  individual  in  an  arch  geological 
dog-skin  cap,  who  had  been  furtively  listening  to 
the  host's  enthusiastic  remarks  concerning  the  dis- 
tinguished vender  of  the  "  Ben  Franklin  Pills," 
solemnly  warned  me,  in  a  low  voice,  against  trad- 
ing for  any  of  the  "  self-supporters,"  averring  that 
Thrum  was  no  more  of  a  professor  than  he  was, 
and  that  'Lias's  constant  tendency  was  to  strong 
drink  arid  another  bad  habit  that  proved  fatal  to 
Ananias  and  Sappbira.  "  His  brother  John  wore 
his-self  aout  a-liftiu'  tumblers,"  said  the  man,  "and 


362          ABU  AH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

'Lias  is  a-goiii'  the  same  way."  Slanting  his  coun- 
tenance sarcastically  toward  the  door  out  of  which 
the  landlord  had  departed,  the  new  spokesman  im- 
plied by  dumb-show  that  Todd  and  Thrum  were 
sly  partners  in  a  very  disreputable  business,  and 
that  the  "  self-supporters "  were  no  better  than 
they  should  be.  I  thought  I  discovered  a  rival 
animosity  in  his  tone,  that  might  naturally  arise 
in  the  breast  of  an  envious  mortal  who  was  seek- 
ing with  another  medicine  to  supplant  the  immense 
popularity  of  the  B.  F.  P.  in  East  Nineveh,  but 
I  stifled  the  unworthy  suspicion  in  my  bosom,  and 
made  no  remark  in  reply  to  his  unfriendly  insin- 
uations. 

When  the  landlord  reentered,  I  began  the  new 
conversational  era  myself:  — 

"  Have  you  always  kept  tavern  here  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No ;  I  foller'd  the  sea  till  I  bust  a  blood-ves- 
sel, and  had  to  give  it  up." 

"  Which  vessel  did  you  give  up  ? "  I  ventured 
to  inquire  by  way  of  enlivening  our  dry  talk  with 
a  mild  attempt  at  facetiousness. 


ABIJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE.          363 

"  The  Ann  Mary  Ann,"  replied  the  literal  sea- 
faring landlord,  evidently  unmoved  by  my  effort  at 
humor. 

It  was  his  turn  now. 

"  Bin  lect'rin'  long  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Healthy  bizniz  ?  " 

Another  and  more  impressive  shake. 

"  How  long  dus  't  take  to  git  a-goin'  in  't  ?  " 

"  That  depends." 

"  What  I  warnt  to  git  at 's  this :  I  've  got  a  boy 
comin'  'long  's  got  to  dew  suthin  byme-by.  Naow 
would  ye  advise  him  to  try  lect'rin'  ?  " 

I  hesitated  a  reply,  and  the  landlord  contin- 
ued :  — 

"  P'r'aps  you  'd  give  him  a  lift  to  git  him  a-run- 
nin'  when  he  's  ready  to  begin  ?  " 

"  Certainly.     How  old  is  your  son  ?  " 

"  Miss  Todd  'd  tell  ye  better  'n  I  can ;  but  I 
should  say  he 's  goin'  on  to  nineteen." 

I  advised  timely  application  to  a  "Bureau." 

My  reference  to  an  old-fashioned  piece  of  furni- 


364          ABIJAII  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

ture  puzzled  the  landlord  to  that  extent  he  began 
to  rub  his  hands  thoughtfully  and  whistle  a  melan- 
choly tune  that  did  not  imply  comprehension  on 
his  part.  After  a  prolonged  pause  :  — 

"  What 's  the  secretary's  name  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  a  secretary ;  it 's  a  bureau  you  must 
apply  to,"  I  answered. 

Then  I  explained  to  him  more  minutely  the  of- 
fice of  a  Lecture  Bureau,  and  he  entered  my  re- 
marks, condensed,  on  the  fly-leaf  of  an  almanac 
hanging  up  behind  the  door.  That  being  done,  he 
mused  a  while,  and  then  asked :  — 

"  Ef  a  young  feller  started  aout  in  the  fall  o'  the 
year  to  foller  lect'rin',  and  stuck  tew  it  till  plant- 
in '-time  in  the  spring,  what  could  he  clear  ?  " 

"  Really  I  could  not  say." 

"  Give  a  rough  guess." 

At  this  point  I  became  alarmed  at  his  business- 
like look  at  the  matter,  and  not  wishing  to  give  a 
serious  father  with  so  large  a  family  on  his  hands 
any  delusive  answer  to  pecuniary  questions  of  so 
grave  a  nature,  I  felt  bound  to  undeceive  him  as 


ABU  AH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE.          3C5 

to  hopes  of  putting  his  son  into  so  precarious  busi- 
ness as  lecturing. 

I  pass  over  with  brief  mention  and  no  harbored 
ill  feeling  the  unpleasantness  of  that  never-to-be- 
forgotten  night  at  the  insalubrious  East  Nineveh 
"tarvern,"  where  I  did  not  sleep,  although  that 
was  my  design  in  going  thither.  I  touch  lightly 
on  the  multiform  delinquencies  of  that  umbrella- 
without -a -handle  establishment:  the  appalling 
dearth  of  food,  — "  aour  cook  havin'  gone  up  to 
Carthage  for  to  attend  a  military  ball,"  —  the  nar- 
row-minded wash-stand,  the  paucity  of  water,  and 
the  entire  non-existence  of  towels  in  my  room.  I 
say  nothing  of  the  alarming  antics  of  the  air-tight 
stove  in  that  freezing  apartment,  the  fiery  little 
article  bursting  out  toward  morning  with  the  evi- 
dent design  of  burning  the  hotel  down.  I  barely 
allude  to  the  midnight  turbulence  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  entry,  occasioned  by  the  unexpected  ar- 
rival of  a  youthful  guest  —  the  landlady's  ninth,  as 
my  host  informed  me  in  the  morning. 


366          AEIJAH  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

"  Perhaps  some  time,"  smilingly  intimated  the 
landlord,  "  ye  '11  make  a  piece  o'  poetry  on  the 
events  coming  to  pass  during  your  fust  visit  to 
aour  hotel.  But  the  least  ye  ken  dew  before  ye 
go  is  to  name  the  baby." 

And  so,  bearing  in  mind  the  object  of  my  visit 
that  bitter  January  night  to  East  Nineveh,  and  all 
I  had  suffered  during  the  hours  of  my  sojourn 
there,  I  suggested  that  the  child  should  be  called 
Idrophobia. 

"Wa'al,"  drawled  the  landlord,  "that  does  hev 
ruther  a  high-toned,  'ristocratic  snap  to  it,  and  I 
should  n'fe  wonder  if  my  wife  took  tew  it  pooty 
well ;  but  ye  never  know  how  a  mother's  feelin's 
is  a-goin'  to  jump  when  a  baby's  got  to  be  chris'- 
ened.  Look  here  !  as  there  ain't  no  paper  lay  in' 
raotind,  s'pose  ye  jest  chalk  the  name  aout  on  these 
bellowses,  and  I  '11  take  it  up  stairs  afore  dinner  to 
show  Miss  Todd.  She  may  n't  see  nothing  in  it  at 
all,  but  she  may." 

I  told  him  by  all  means  to  consult  the  mother's 
taste  in  the  matter,  and  if  her  opinion  did  not  co- 


ABU  All  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE,          367 

incide  with  mine,  I  should  not  feel  at  all  disap- 
pointed if  she  had  the  baby  christened  something 
else. 

"  Call  agin  when  ye  come  this  way,"  responded 
the  landlord,  "  and  git  acquainted  with  Miss  Todd 
and  little  Idrophoby.  Glad  to  show  ye  aour  new 
cemmerterry,  next  time  ye  come,  if  bizniz  is  slack. 
Take  ye  raound  en ny where." 

I  assured  him,  with  my  hand  on  my  carpet-bag, 
that  whenever  I  had  occasion  to  come  again  into 
that  region,  he  should  know  of  it  in  season  to  ex- 
hibit the  "  cemmerterry  "  and  all  the  other  beau- 
ties of  East  Nineveh. 

And  so  we  parted,  I  have  no  doubt,  forever,  and 
I  can  undergo  the  separation  during  that  length  of 
time  with  firmness.  I  am  not  indebted  to  the  land- 
lord of  the  East  Nineveh  "  tarvern  "  for  much  that 
was  beneficial  in  the  way  of  sustenance  or  repose, 
but  I  am  his  debtor  for  one  phrase  at  least  worth 
remembering.  As  he  was  letting  out  of  the  hotel 
door  a  lugubrious-looking  neighbor,  who  had  evi- 
dently bored  him  by  too  ranch  complaining  talk, 


368          ABIJAU  DOLE'S  FREE  LECTURE. 

he  said,  quietly,  as  he  turned  the  key,  "  Good  red- 
dance  to  him ! " 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Oh,  nobody  in  pertickler  —  only  one  oj  these 
'are  long-metre  feller  that  goes  on  a  cryin'  arter  the 
funeral's  all  over." 

It  is  not  often  that  a  free  lecturer  bears  his  own 
travelling  expenses,  liquidates  his  hotel  bill,  and  is 
obliged  to  pay  for  hearing  himself  talk ;  but  twenty 
years  since  East  Nineveh  compelled  me  to  endure 
those  novel  sensations. 


A  PAIKY  TALE. 

* 


A   FAIRY  TALE. 

THE    TWENTY-NINTH    OP    AUGUST,  1809. 


JlNCE  upon  a  time  a  company  of  good- 
natured  fairies  assembled  for  a  summer 
moonlight  dance  on  a  green  lawn  in  front 
of  a  certain  picturesque  old  house  in  Cambridge. 
They  had  come  out  for  a  midnight  lark,  and  as 
their  twinkling  feet  flew  about  among  the  musical 
dewdrops,  they  were  suddenly  interrupted  by  the 
well-known  figure  of  the  village  doctor,  which, 
emerging  from  the  old  mansion,,  rapidly  made  its 
way  homeward. 

"  Another  new-born  mortal  has  alighted,  on  our 


372  A  FAIRY  TALE. 


happy  planet,"  whispered  a  fairy  gossip  to  her  near 
companion. 

"  Evidently  so  !  "  replied  the  tiny  creature,  smil- 
ing good-naturedly  on  the  doctor's  footprints  in  the 
grass. 

"  That  is  the  minister's  house,"  said  another 
small  personage,  with  a  wink  of  satisfaction. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  a  boy,"  ejaculated  Fairy  Number 
One. 

"  I  know  it  is  a  boy  !  "  said  Fairy  Number  Two. 
"  I  read  it  in  the  doctor's  face  when  the  moon 
lighted  up  his  countenance  as  he  shut  the  door  so 
softly  behind  him." 

"  It  is  a  boy  !  "  responded  the  fairy  queen,  who 
always  knew  everything,  and  that  settled  the  ques- 
.  tion. 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  cried  all  the  fairies  at 
once,  "  let  us  try  what  magic  still  remains  to  us  in 
this  busy,  bustling  New  England.  Let  us  make 
that  child's  life  a  happy  and  a  famous  one,  if  we 
can." 

"  Agreed,"  replied  the  queen  ;  "  and  I  will  lead 


A  FAIRY  TALE.  373 


off  with  a  substantial  gift  to  the  little  new-comer. 
I  will  crown  him  with  Cheerfulness,  a  sunny  tem- 
perament brimming  over  with  mirth  and  happi- 
ness ! " 

"  And  I  will  second  your  majesty's  gift  to  the 
little  man,"  said  a  sweet-voiced  creature,  "  and  ten- 
der him  the  ever-abiding  gift  of  Song.  He  shall 
be  a  perpetual  minstrel  to  gladden  the  hearts  of  all 
his  fellow  mortals." 

"  And  I,"  said  another,  "  will  shower  upon  him 
the  subtle  power  of  Pathos  and  Romance,  and  he 
shall  take  unto  himself  the  spell  of  a  sorcerer 
whenever  he  chooses  to  scatter  abroad  his  wise  and 
beautiful  fancies." 

"  And  I,"  said  a  very  astute-looking  fairy,  "  will 
touch  his  lips  with  Persuasion ;  he  shall  be  a 
teacher  of  knowledge,  and  the  divine  gift  of  Elo- 
quence shall  be  at  his  command,  to  uplift  and  in- 
struct the  people." 

"And  I,"  said  a  quaint,  energetic  little  body, 
"  will  endow  him  with  a  passionate  desire  to  help 
forward  the  less  favored  sons  and  daughters  of 


374  A  FAIRY  TALE. 

earth,  who  are  struggling  for  recognition  and  suc- 
cess in  their  various  avocations." 

"  And  I,"  said  a  motherly-looking,  amiable  fairy, 
"  will  see  that  in  due  time  he  finds  the  best  among 
women  for  his  companionship,  a  helpmeet  indeed, 
whose  life  shall  be  happily  bound  up  in  his  life." 

"  Do  give  me  a  chance  !  "  cried  a  beautiful  young 
fairy,  "  and  I  will  answer  for  his  children ;  that 
they  be  worthy  of  their  father,  and  all  a  mother's 
heart  may  pray  that  Heaven  will  vouchsafe  to 
her." 

And  after  seventy  years  had  rolled  away  into 
space,  the  same  fairies  assembled  on  the  same  lawn 
at  the  same  season  of  the  year,  to  compare  notes 
with  reference  to  their  now  famous  protege.  And 
then  and  there  they  declared  that  their  magic  had 
been  thoroughly  successful,  and  that  their  charms 
had  all  worked  without  a  single  flaw. 

Then  they  took  hands,  and  dancing  slowly 
around  the  time-honored  mansion,  sang  this  rounde- 
lay, framed  in  the  words  of  their  own  beloved 
poet :  — 


A  FAIRY  TALE. 


375 


"  Strength  to  his  hours  of  manlj-  toil ! 

Peace  to  his  star- lit  dreams ! 

He  loves  alike  the  furrowed  soil, 

The  music-haunted  streams ! 

"  Sweet  smiles  to  keep  forever  bright 

The  sunshine  on  his  lips, 
And  faith,  that  sees  the  ring  of  light 
Round  Nature's  last  eclipse!  " 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM, 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

A   FAMILIAR    EPISTLE. 


1 Y  DEAR  POET :  A  few  days  ago  I  fell 
upon  this  exquisite  passage  in  one  of 
your  attractive  volumes  :  — 

"How  pleasant   it  is  to  reflect  that   all  lovers   of 

books   have   themselves  become  books May  I 

hope  to  become  the  meanest  of  these  existences  ?  I 
should  like  to  remain  visible  in  this  shape.  The  little 
of  myself  that  pleases  myself  I  could  wish  to  be  ac- 
counted worth  pleasing  others.  I  should  like  to  sur- 
vive so,  were  it  only  for  the  sake  of  those  who  love  me 
in  private,  knowing,  as  I  do,  what  a  treasure  is  the 
possession  of  a  friend's  mind  when  he  is  no  more. 


380  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

Dear  Friend,  I  must  always  decline  to  think  of 
you  as  an  inarticulate  phantom,  but  persist  in  re- 
garding you  habitually  as  an  alert  and  active  pres- 
ence, somewhere  well  employed.  Nothing  epice- 
dian,  therefore,  should  ever  encumber  any  letters 
to  a  long-absent  correspondent  like  yourself. 

Twenty  years  ago,  when  I  had  the  never-to-be- 
forgotten  happiness  of  spending  a  delightful  even- 
ing in  your  cottage  at  Hammersmith,  and  you  con- 
fided to  me  so  many  sacred  things  about  your  dead 
companions,  John  Keats  and  Percy  Shelley,  you 
told  me,  I  remember,  that,  if  a  copy  were  in  your 
possession,  it  would  have  afforded  you  much  grat- 
ification to  present  me  with  your  London  Journal, 
the  original  publication,  just  as  it  was  issued  dur- 
ing the  years  of  1834-35.  Since  that  memorable 
evening  in  England  under  your  roof  (do  you  re- 
call the  long,  calm  twilight  and  the  moon-rise  as 
we  watched  it  glimmering  among  the  poplar 
trees  ?)  I  have  sought  in  vain  for  the  treasure 
in  London  and  American  book-shops,  where  such 
priceless  things  are  apt  to  lurk.  You  can  imagine 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  381 

my  exceptional  pleasure,  dear  friend,  when  R.  C. 
(for  years  knowing  my  necessity)  came  bounding 
into  my  summer  cottage  on  the  cliff,  only  last 
night,  with  the  coveted  prize  in  his  brawny  York- 
shire fist,  jubilantly  shouting  his  fervid  gladness 
that  at  last  he  had  secured  what  I  had  so  long  de- 
sired to  possess.  R.  loves  the  volume  as  much  as 
I  do,  but  he  cannot  resist  the  noble  rage  which 
dominates  his  heart,  for  making  other  people 
happy.  So  now  I  am  actual  owner  of  the  precious 
leaves  about  which  we  discoursed  together  sitting 
around  your  jocund  table  a  score  of  years  ago ! 

I  cannot  refrain  from  thanking  you,  as  well  as 
R.  C.,  for  the  enchanting  pages  before  me.  There 
is  a  paper  from  your  own  pen  in  the  first  number 
of  the  "  Journal "  (for  April  2),  which  comes  es- 
pecially near  to  us  all.  It  is  that  one  in  which  you 
hope  to  teach  your  readers  of  fifty  years  ago  "  the 
art  of  extracting  pleasurable  ideas  from  the  com- 
monest objects,"  and  what  graces  lie  in  the  direc- 
tion of  poetry  and  the  fine  arts.  It  is  where  you 
lean  your  cheek  so  lovingly  toward  those  of  the 


382  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

young  and  ardent  seekers  after  what  is  uplifting 
and  instructive.  "  Pleasure  is  the  business  of  this 
journal,"  you  say  often  and  often  to  your  subscrib- 
ers. The  right  kind  of  pleasure,  of  course.  And 
how  exquisitely  you  explain  what  true  pleasure  is ! 
—  "  innocent,  kindly,  elevating,  consoling,  encour- 
aging." Here  are  some  of  your  magnetic  words 
that  I  have  read  more  than  once  to-day  :  — 

"  As  the  sunshine  floods  the  sky  and  the  ocean,  and 
yet  nurses  the  baby  buds  of  roses  on  the  wall,  so  we 
would  fain  open  the  largest  and  the  very  best  source 
of  pleasure,  the  noblest  that  expands  above  us  into 
the  heavens,  and  the  most  familiar  that  catches  our 
glance  in  the  homestead.  .  .  .  Man  has  not  yet 
learned  to  enjoy  the  world  he  lives  in;  no,  not  the 
hundred-thousand-millionth  part  of  it;  and  we  would 

fain  help  him  to  render  it  of  still  greater  joy 

We  would  make  adversity  hopeful,  prosperity  sympa- 
thetic; and  all  to  be  better,  kinder,  richer,  and  hap- 
pier  There  is  scarcely  a  single  joy  or  sorrow 

Within  the  experience  of  our  fellow-creatures  which  we 
have  not  tasted;  and  the  belief  in  the  good  and  beau- 
tiful has  never  forsaken  us.  It  has  been  medicine  to 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  383 

us  in  sickness,  riches  in  poverty,  and  the  best  part  of 

all  that  ever  delighted  us  in  health  or  success 

We  would  sny  to  every  one  :  You  can  surely  diminish 
pain  and  increase  pleasure;  the  secret  is  to  know 
more,  and  to  know  that  there  is  more  to  love.  The 
more  man  knows  the  more  he  exists,  and  the  pleas- 
anter  his  knowledge  the  happier  his  existence.  Shake- 
speare speaks  of  a  man  who  was  '  incapable  of  his 
own  distress.'  A  man  may  be  poor,  even  struggling, 
but  not  unhappy  —  the  commonest  goods  and  chattels 
are  pregnant  to  him  as  fairy  tales  or  things  in  a  panto- 
mime. His  hat,  like  Fortunato's  wishing-cap,  can 
carry  him  into  the  American  solitude  among  the  bea- 
vers, where  he  can  sit  in  thought,  looking  at  them  do- 
ing their  work,  and  hearing  the  majestic  whispers  in 
the  trees,  or  the  falls  of  the  old  trunks  that  are  ever- 
lastingly breaking  the  silence  in  those  wildernesses. 
A  hundred  agreeable  thoughts  will  come  to  this  man, 
thoughts  of  foreign  lands  and  elegance  and  amuse- 
ment, of  tortoises  and  books  of  travels,  and  the  comb 
in  his  mistress's  hair,  and  the  elephants  that  carry  sul- 
tans, and  the  silver-mines  of  Potosi ;  wilh  all  the  won- 
ders of  South  American  history  and  the  starry  cross 
in  its  sky;  so  that  the  smallest  key  shall  pick  the  lock 


384  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

of  the  greatest  treasures,  thus  opening  to  the  knowing 
man  the  whole  universe We  have  been  work- 
ing now  for  upward  of  thirty  years,  and  we  have  the 
same  hope,  the  same  love,  the  same  faith  in  the  beauty 
and  goodness  of  nature  and  all  her  prospects,  in  space 
and  in  time;  we  could  almost  add  the  same  youth. 
We  have  had  so  much  sorrow,  and  yet  are  capable  of 
so  much  joy,  and  receive  pleasure  from  so  many  famil- 
iar objects,  that  we  sometimes  think  we  should  have 
had  an  unfair  portion  of  happiness,  if  our  life  had  not 
been  one  of  more  than  ordinary  trial." 

Thanks,  dear  friend,  for  these  noble,  self-sus- 
taining words,  and  for  the  permanent  comfort  we 
all  find  in  your  other  health-giving  writings.  I 
have  for  a  long  time  noticed  the  sweet  influences, 
the  almost  immediate  effect  of  several  of  your  es- 
says and  poems  on  many  a  downcast  look  and 
laboring  breast  here  in  America.  Your  charming 
philosophy  has  often  recalled  to  me  the  passage 
which  Cervantes  has  emphasized  in  "  Don  Quix- 
ote : "  "  As  to  being  tossed  in  a  blanket,  I  say  noth- 
ing, for  it  is  difficult  to  prevent  such  mishaps,  and, 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  385 

if  they  do  come,  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to 
wait,  hold  one's  breath  and  submit  to  go  whither 
fortune  and  the  blanket  shall  please." 

In  your  writings  there  is  nothing  morbid,  noth- 
ing depressing,  no  "perilous  stuff  that  weighs 
upon  the  heart."  You  have  taught  us  in  various 
ways  that  every  man  has  a  plastic  gift  of  happi- 
ness which  will  become  stronger  with  use,  and  that 
beautiful  possibilities,  thank  God,  are  endless.  It 
was  said  of  the  Abbe  de  Lille  by  Madame  du 
Mole,  that  his  body  was  seventy-four,  and  his  soul 
only  fifteen,  and  when  I  used  to  see  your  face 
brighten  up  at  the  sight  of  little  children  I  knew 
the  meaning  of  such  an  encomium. 

In  your  character  as  Indicator  you  have  done 
immeasurable  service  to  young  people  especially. 
You  seem  to  have  been  sent  into  the  world  on  a 
special  mission  to  point  out  whatever  is  best  in 
many  literatures.  It  is  said  there  is  a  bird  in  the 
interior  of  Africa  which  indicates  to  honey-hunters 
where  the  nests  of  wild  bees  are  to  be  found  by 
calling  out  to  them  with  a  cheerful  cry.  On  find- 


386  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

iiior  itself  recognized  the  bird  flies  and  hovers  over 
a  hollow  tree  containing  the  honey.  Thither  the 
gatherers  go  and  collect  the  sweet  treasure,  while 
the  bird  flies  to  a  little  distance,  observing  all  that 
passes.  When  the  hunters  have  helped  them- 
selves they  take  care  always  to  leave  a  portion  for 
the  bird  that  has  so  kindly  indicated  to  them 
where  the  honey  lay  concealed.  I  cannot  help 
thinking  of  yourself  as  one  of  the  honey-indica- 
tors of  literature,  calling  out  to  all  readers  in  sweet 
persuasive  ways  to  come  and  help  themselves  to 
the  choicest  morsels  in  English  prose  and  poetry, 
the  honeyed  words  of  wit  and  wisdom,  "  infinite 
riches  in  a  little  room."  To  employ  your  own 
words,  you  have  always  seemed  to  me 

'•  One  of  the  spirits  chosen  by  Heaven  to  turn 
The  sunny  side  of  things  to  human  eyes." 

You  once  said,  I  remember,  that  birth  had  made 
you  a  Royalist,  but  that  no  man  respected  an  hon- 
est Republican  more  than  yourself,  or  venerated 
him  more  if  he  were  truly  great.  I  also  remem- 
ber you  said  that  the  idea  of  a  war  between  Eng- 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  387 

land  and  America  was  a  thing  alike  monstrous  and 
impossible.  I  recall  with  special  pleasure  your  as- 
sertion that  you  would  as  soon  think  of  a  quarrel 
between  two  guardian-angels  of  mankind,  in  the 
heavens  that  overlook  us,  as  a  rupture  between  the 
two  countries.  Most  earnestly  and  devoutly  you 
thought  the  welfare  of  the  earth  committed  to  the 
keeping  of  the  two  nations.  Both  on  your  father's 
and  mother's  side  you  are  fully  American,  and 
closely  related  by  blood  to  all  of  us  on  this  side  of 
the  water.  Your  heart  readily  turned  to  America 
from  early  boyhood,  so  that  your  books,  both  in 
prose  and  verse,  seem  very  much  at  home  among 
this  people. 

It  will  not  disturb  you,  perhaps,  to  hear  that 
your  delightful  writings  are  read  more  than  ever. 
They  have  endenizened  themselves  in  this  quarter 
of  the  world  especially.  A  bookseller  told  me 
lately  he  had  daily  calls  for  your  perennial  vol- 
umes, and  it  was  good  to  hear  such  reports  of  their 
continued  prosperity,  for  they  "  fortify  like  a  cor- 
dial ;  they  enlarge  the  heart,  and  are  productive  of 


388  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELISIUM. 

sweet  blood  and  generous  spirits."  As  an  author, 
you  have  not  passed  away  "  like  a  weaver's  shut- 
tle," and  not  one  of  your  modest  tomes  is  dust-rid- 
den or  smells  of  mortality.  My  friend  C.  F.  al- 
ways keeps  a  supply  of  these  three  of  your  books 
on  hand  for  bridal,  new-year  and  birthday  gifts : 
"Imagination  and  Fancy,"  "Wit  and  Humor," 
and  "  A  Jar  of  Honey  from  Mount  Hybla."  He 
has  a  pretty  style  of  binding,  invented  by  himself 
for  these  delectable  volumes,  and  he  always  adds  a 
few  words  on  the  presentation  leaf,  setting  forth 
your  claims  to  the  love  and  admiration  of  readers, 
young  and  old." 

Your  "  Religion  of  the  Heart "  as  printed  by 
Moxon  many  years  ago,  is  a  soul-helping  volume, 
but,  good  as  it  is,*  with  your  more  recent  experi- 
ence what  an  improved  and  enlarged  edition  you 
could  now  put  to  press !  If  such  a  digression  were 
permitted  to  departed  essayists,  what  a  marvel- 
lously instructive  paper  you  could  now  indite  for 
the  world's  enlightenment,  with  some  such  title  as 
this  :  "  Mistaken  Ideas  on  the  Earth  with  Regard 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  389 

to  Death."  I  can  imagine  your  selection  of  a 
motto  for  the  heading  of  such  an  article.  Perhaps 
you  would  choose  this  line  for  that  purpose  from 
Shakespeare's  "  Tarquin  and  Lucrece  :  "  — 

"For  much  imaginary  work  was  there." 
It  would  be  like  you,  Mr.  Indicator,  to  mouse  in 
that  suggestive  quarter  for  a  tit  quotation. 

A  few  Sundays  ago  I  heard  a  good  clergyman 
quote,  with  tearful  voice,  these  admonitory  lines  of 
yours,  in  his  morning  discourse.  Many  a  hearer 
present  listened  to  them  with  responsive,  moist- 
ened eyes  :  — 

"How  sweet  it  were,  if  without  feeble  fright, 
Or  dying  of  the  dreadful  beauteous  sight, 
An  angel  came  to  us,  and  we  could  bear 
To  see  him  issue  from  the  silent  air 
At  evening  in  our  room,  and  bend  on  ours 
His  divine  eyes  and  bring  us  from  his  bowers, 
News  of  dear  friends,  and  children  who  have  never 
Been  dead  indeed,  —  as  we  shall  know  forever. 
Alas !  we  think  not  what  AVC  daily  see 
About  our  hearths  —  angels  that  are  to  be, 
Or  may  be  if  they  will,  and  we  prepare 
Their  souls  and  ours  to  meet  in  happy  air, 


390  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

A  child,  a  friend,  a  wife  whose  soft  heart  sings 
In  unison  with  ours,  breeding  its  future  wings." 

There  are  many  things,  dear  friend,  about  which 
I  should  be  so  glad  to  ask  you,  but  I  shrink  from 
calling  off  your  attention  to  sublunary  matters 
now. 

Many  of  the  books  which  I  saw  on  your  library 
shelves  at  Hammersmith  have  crossed  over  to  me 
and  become  my  most  valuable  literary  treasures. 
Your  annotated  Milton,  enriched  with  thousands 
of  marginal  notes,  is  a  real  mine  of  poetic  lore. 
Some  of  your  objections,  questionings  rather,  in 
the  "  Paradise  Lost "  have  puzzled  me  exceed- 
ingly. If  I  ever  have  the  good  fortune  to  get  an- 
other long  talk  with  you,  I  may  venture  on  a  few 
Milton ic  inquiries.  There  is  much  in  your  copy 
of  Shakespeare  that  I  shall  ask  you  to  unravel,  if 
I  am  vouchsafed  the  felicity  of  another  interview. 
Your  copy  of  Ben  Jonson  is  delightful  reading, 
being  starred  all  over  with  subtle  explanations,  but 
something  is  there  also  to  be  cleared  up. 

One  would  like  to   be   informed  how   you   are 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  391 

employing  yourself  in  your  new  abode.  How  do 
you  get  on  without  your  library,  and  with  no  new 
books  to  criticise  ?  Are  you  content  so  far  away 
from  the  opera  and  Drury  Lane  ?  How  do  you 
exist  with  no  London  at  your  elbow  ?  You  were 
formerly  so  fond  of  strolling  up  and  down  the  old 
city  —  where  do  you  perambulate  now  ?  Have 
you  and  Byron  met,  made  up,  and  become  friendly 
again  ?  One  fancies  you  and  Charles  Knight  hob- 
nobbing after  the  old  manner,  comparing  notes, 
as  you  used  to  do  when  you  discussed  with  a  relish 
those  interesting  personages,  Parson  Adams,  San- 
cho  Panza,  Uncle  Toby,  Gil  Bias,  St.  Januarius, 
Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  Lemuel  Gulliver,  and  that 
gigantic  despot,  Garagantua,  who  ate  six  pilgrims 
in  a  salad  !  I  saw  you  at  a  friend's  house  years 
ago,  holding  happy  converse  with  Barry  Cornwall 
and  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  in  Upper  Harley  Street. 
Do  you  meet  them  often  in  upper  streets  now  ? 
And  Dickens,  and  Adelaide  Procter,  and  Cowden 
Clarke,  and  Charles  and  Mary  Lamb,  and  William 
Hazlitt,  are  you  together  with  them  occasionally 


392  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

as  aforetime?  Do  Kenyon  and  Landor  practice 
word-fencing  in  Elysium  ?  One  would  like  to  know 
how  Chaucer  impresses  you  as  an  entity.  (From 
the  portrait  of  Geoffrey  in  your  copy  of  Godwin's 
"  Life  "  I  judge  he  has,  to  employ  Sir  Philip  Syd- 
ney's neat  phrase,  "  a  most  kissworthy  face.") 
Is  Spenser  in  any  way  disappointing  ?  Have  you 
dared  much  converse  with  the  potential  master  of 
them  all,  and  inquired  of  him  as  to  the  Prince  of 
Denmark's  hazy  conduct  on  certain  well-known  oc- 
casions ?  (Private  and  confidential.  Dear  friend, 

who  wrote  the  plays  ?  Was  it  really  Sha , 

or  only  Ba — : —  ?) 

There  are  many  items  of  literary  interest  to 
communicate  from  below,  but  I  will  not  enu- 
merate them  all. 

William  Howells,  a  man  after  your  own  heart, 
has  lately  made  some  remarkable  excursions  into 
the  "Undiscovered  Country,"  and  his  book 
would  greatly  interest  you.  Elizabeth  Phelps 
has  touched  the  heart  of  the  world  in  an  electric 
manner  through  the  pages  of  an  exceptionally 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  393 

human  narrative  called  "  Gates  Ajar."  I  wish  I 
could  get  a  copy  over  to  you,  for  your  tender 
eyes  were  made  to  glisten  over  a  book  like  this. 

"  Her  senses  gradually  wrapt 
In  a  half  sleep,  she  dreamed  of  better  worlds, 
And  dreaming  heard  thee  still,  0  singing  lark, 
That  sangest  like  an  angel  in  the  clouds !  " 

Our  world-beloved  Longfellow  —  clarum  et  vene- 
raUle  nomen  —  whose  muse  knows  nothing  of 
age,  has  lately  addressed  a  poem  to  Robert 
Burns,  now  of  Eternity.  The  American  poet 
bids  his  Scottish  brother  welcome  to  his  own 
fireside  as  "  dear  guest  and  ghost,"  and  the 
whole  lyric  is  a  triumph  of  genuine  feeling  in 
verse.  I  hear  of  a  lecture  on  "  Ghost  Seeing," 
lately  read  in  public  by  one  of  America's  ripest 
theological  and  philosophical  scholars.  Whatever 
Professor  H.  has  to  say  on  any  subject  relative 
to  the  invisible  world  is  sure  of  eager  attention. 
You  were  once  capriciously  fond  of  ghost-stories ; 
does  that  partiality  still  survive  the  change  in 
your  locality  ?  Or  has  familiarity  somewhat  dulled 


394  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

the  edge  of  your  susceptibility  in  that  direction  ? 
Ghosts  of  an  inferior  grade  are  common  enough 
everywhere  in  these  latter  days,  but  your  oppor- 
tunity for  investigation  must  be  special  and  deeply 
interestiDg.  Among  the  ladies  who  now  belong 
to  the  ghost  department  you  will  be  sure  to  have 
eagerly  sought  out  those  stately  beauties  of  the 
Bridgewater  family  for  whom  Milton  wrote  his 
"  Comus,"  and  Dante's  Beatrice  and  Petrarch's 
Laura  will  be  sure  to  liave  attracted  your  atten- 
tion very  early  in  your  search  after  the  choicer 
residents.  One  other,  a  Florentine  wife  to  Ago- 
lanti,  you  will  long  ago  have  encountered. 

"  Non  era  1'andar  stio  eosa  mortale, 
Ma  d' angelica  forma," 

Among  the  unjust  books  that  have  appeared  is 
one  containing  the  love-letters  of  Keats  to  Fanny 
Brawne.  These  epistles,  coined  out  of  heart's 
sorrow  and  passion,  ought  never  to  have  been 
handled  by  the  public.  All  eyes  are  now  allowed 
to  scrutinize  ad  libitum  the  inmost  sacred  life  of 
one  of  the  most  sensitive  beings  that  ever  existed 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  395 

and  suffered.  It  appears  it  is  not  considered  dis- 
honorable in  these  days  thus  to  unveil  the  sanc- 
tity of  a  divine  memory  and  ruthlessly  to  print 
these  quivering  relics,  these  burning  vows  of  an 
almost  frenzied  devotion.  Tennyson's  invective 
is  recalled  by  this  sacrilegious  injustice  :  — 

"  He  gave  the  people  of  his  best ; 

The  worst  he  kept,  his  best  he  gave, 
My  Shakespeare's  curse  on  clown  and  knave 
Who  will  not  let  his  ashes  rest!  " 

Frances  Owen,  a  lady  large  of  heart  and  brain, 
has  published  "  A  Study  of  Keats  "  which  is  wor- 
thy of  all  praise.  Him  who  has 

"  Discoursed  upon  the  fragile  bar 
That  keeps  us  from  our  homes  ethereal 
And  what  our  duties  there  " 

is  most  lovingly  set  forth  in  this  charming  bro- 
chure, and  her  choicely  printed  book  deserves  a 
place  on  the  same  shelf  with  what  you  have  your- 
self written  of  the  immortal  youth.  Mrs.  Owen 
quotes  with  appreciative  judgment  some  lines 
from  Keats's  lovely  epistle,  written  in  September, 


396  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

1816,  to  our  dear  friend,  Charles  Cowden  Clarke. 
How  admirably  that  letter  to  the  son  of  the  poet's 
old  schoolmaster  sets  forth  Keats's  indebtedness 
to  young  Clarke.  What  a  blessing  Charles  was 
in  those  days  to  the  young  bard !  Keats  felt  it  all 
when  he  penned  these  memorable  passages  that 
autumn  evening  more  than  sixty  years  ago :  — 

"  You  first  taught  me  all  the  sweets  of  song: 
The  grand,  the  sweet,  the  terse,  the  free,  the  fine : 
What  swell'd  with  pathos,  and  what  right  divine : 
Spenserian  vowels  that  elope  with  ease, 
And  float  along,  like  birds  o'er  summer  seas : 
Miltonian  storms,  and  more,  Miltonian  tenderness : 
Michael  in  arms,  and  more,  meek  Eve's  fair  slenderness. 
Who  read  for  me  the  sonnet  swelling  loudly 
Up  to  its  climax  and  then  dying  proudly? 
Who  found  for  me  the  grandeur  of  the  ode  ? 
Growing,  like  Atlas,  stronger  from  its  load  ? 
Who  let  me  taste  that  more  than  cordial  dram, 
The  sharp,  the  rapier-pointed  epigram  ? 
Show'd  me  that  epic  was  of  all  the  king, 
Round,  vast  and  spanning  all,  like  Saturn's  ring  ? 
You  too  upheld  the  veil  from  Clio's  beauty 
And  pointed  out  the  patriot's  stern  duty; 


TO  LEI&H  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  397 

The  might  of  Alfred,  and  the  shaft  of  Tell ; 

The  hand  of  Brutus  that  so  grandly  fell 

Upon  a  tyrant's  head.    Ah !  had  I  never  seen 

Or  known  your  kindness,  what  might  I  have  been  ? 

What  my  enjoyments  in  my  youthful  years, 

Bereft  of  all  that  now  my  life  endears  ? 

And  can  I  e'er  these  benefits  forget  ? 

And  can  I  e'er  repay  the  friendly  debt  V 

But  many  days  have  passed  since  last  my  heart 
Was  warmed  luxuriously  by  divine  Mozart : 
By  Arne  delighted,  or  by  Handel  madden' d 
Or  by  the  song  of  Erin  pierced  and  sadden' d : 
What  time  you  were  before  the  music  sitting, 
And  the  rich  notes  to  each  sensation  flitting, 
Since  I  have  walk'd  with  you  through  shady  lanes 
That  freshly  terminate  in  open  plains, 
And  re  veil' d  in  a  chat  that  ceased  not 
When,  at  nightfall,  among  your  books  we  got: 
No,  nor  when  supper  came,  nor  after  that, 
Nor  when  reluctantly  I  took  my  hat ; 
No,  nor  till  cordially  you  shook  my  hand 
Midway  between  our  homes :  —  your  accents  bland 
Still  sounded  in  my  ears,  when  I  no  more 
Could  hear  your  footsteps  touch  the  gravelly  floor. 
Sometimes  I  lost  them,  and  then  found  again  ; 
You  changed  the  foot-path  for  the  grassy  plain. 


398  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

In  those  still  moments  I  have  wished  you  joys 

That  well  you  know  to  honor:  —  "Life's  very  toys 

With  him,"  said  I,  "will  take  a  pleasant  charm ; 

It  cannot  be  that  aught  will  work  him  harm." 

These  thoughts  now  come  o'er  me  with  all  their  might: 

Again  I  shake  your  hand  —  friend  Charles,  good-night." 

Observe  how  sympathetically  Mrs.  Owen  touches 
her  great  subject  in  this  delightful  "  Study  :  "  — 

"  Such  a  poem  as  the  *  Ode  to  a  Nightingale  '  (writ- 
ten on  scraps  of  paper  and  thrust  away  as  waste  be- 
hind some  books)  is  a  spontaneous  expression  of  the 
life  the  poet  was  then  living.  The  nightingale  sang 
in  the  plum-tree  at  Wentworth  Place,  and  Keats  sat 
and  listened  to  it  and  wrote  one  of  the  saddest  and 
sweetest  poems  in  our  language.  It  was  written  in 
the  same  year  and  nearly  at  the  same  time  as 
1  Lamia,'  when  the  shadow  of  his  approaching  doom 
seemed  to  be  stealing  over  him  ;  when  his  brother 
Tom,  whom  he  had  loved  so  well,  had  lately  died; 
when  he  was  waking  to  consciousness  of  the  love  that 
was  his  fate.  There  is  noticeable  all  through  the 
poem  that  languor  and  failure  of  the  springs  of  life 
which  mark  the  first  approach  of  death,  however  dis- 
tant the  event  may  be,  and  that  remarkably  quick- 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  399 

ened  sympathy  with  all  natural  life  which  is  so  often 
to  be  seen  in  those  who  are  doomed  to  die.  It  was 
this  sympathy  which  made  Keats  write  a  few  months 
later  :  '  How  astonishingly  does  the  chance  of  leav- 
ing the  world  impress  a  sense  of  its  natural  beauties 
upon  us !  The  simple  flowers  of  our  spring  are  what 
I  want  to  see  again. '  It  was  therefore  no  mere  po- 
etic wish,  but  the  expression  of  a  real  sadness,  which 
prompted  the  longing  '  to  fade  away  into  the  forest 
dim '  with  the  nightingale  :  — 

"  'Fade  far  away,  dissolve  and  quite  forget 
What  thou  among  the  leaves  hast  never  known, 

The  weariness,  the  fever  and  the  fret, 
Here,  where  men  sit  and  hear  each  other  groan : 

Where  palsy  shakes  a  few  sad  last  gray  hairs, 
Where  youth  grows  pale  and  spectre  —  thin,  and  dies ; 

Where  but  to  think  is  to  be  full  of  sorrow 
And  leaden-eyed  despairs : 

Where  beauty  cannot  keep  her  lustrous  eyes, 
Or  new  love  pine  at  them  beyond  to-morrow.' 

"  We  can  imagine,  too,  how  his  thoughts  were 
haunted  by  the  sufferings  of  his  brother's  last  weeks 
when  he  wrote  of  being  '  half  in  love  with  easeful 
death,'  and  how  true  it  is  in  that  passionately  lov- 


400  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

ing  nature,  which  loved  even  its  brothers  with  more 
than  the  love  of  women,  that,  thinking  of  Tom  in 
his  new-made  grave,  and  of  George  far  away  in 
America,  John  Keats  should  write  from  his  heart, 

' ' '  Forlorn !  the  very  word  is  like  a  bell 
To  toll  me  back  from  thee  to  my  sole  self.' 

"  The  whole  of  this  magical  ode.  seems  to  make  life 
vocal  for  us  as  we  read  it,  but  it  also  brings  us  very 
close  to  the  wearied  young  heart  that  was  nearing 
death." 

You  remember  Vincent  Novello  and  that  ex- 
ceptional nest  of  London  singing  birds  in  Oxford 
street  many  a  year  gone  by  ?  These  suggestive 
lines  will  surely  not  be  unfamiliar  to  you,  .and 
will  recall  the  delightful  family  :  — 

"When  lovely  sounds  about  my  ears 

Like  winds  in  Eden's  tree-tops  rise, 
And  make  me,  though  my  spirit  hears, 

For  very  luxury  close  my  eyes, 
Let  none  but  friends  be  round  about 

Who  love  the  smoothing  joy  like  me, 
That  so  the  charm  be  felt  throughout, 

And  all  be  harmony. 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  401 

"  And  when  we  reach  the  close  divine, 

Then  let  the  hand  of  her  I  love 
Come  with  its  gentle  palm  on  mine 

As  soft  as  snow  or  lighting  dove : 
And  let,  by  stealth,  that  more  than  friend 

Look  sweetness  in  my  opening  eyes, 
For  only  so  such  dreams  should  end, 

Or  wake  in  Paradise." 

Only  yourself  could  have  written  such  exquisite 
verses  on  "  hearing  music,"  and  you  did  write 
them  for  Vincent's  piano,  and  a  lovely  voice,  years 
and  years  ago.  Well,  Vincent's  daughter  Mary, 
wife  of  warm-hearted,  poetry-loving,  poetry-mak- 
ing Charles,  sister  of  the  lute-voiced  Clara,  —  a 
lady  well  known  and  admired  by  yourself  many 
a  year  gone  by,  —  has  printed  a  sweet,  refreshing 
volume  of  "  Recollections."  I  do  not  believe  that 
a  more  lovable  work  was  ever  sent  into  the  wait- 
_ing  world  by  man  or  woman  than  this  enchanting 
mirror  of  the  beautiful  vanished  Past,  thus  ar- 
ranged by  Mary  Clarke  in  her  flower-covered 
Genoese  villa,  where,  thank  Heaven !  she  is  living 
still,  a  blessing  to  her  old  and  young  companions. 


402  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

Mary's  heart,  like  her  husband's  and   your   own, 
has  no  age  in  it ;  for  something  dwells  perpetually 

there  — 

"  Better  than  all  measures 

Of  delightful  sound, 
Better  than  all  treasures 
That  in  books  are  found." 

Among  your  native  authors  whom  we  are  espe- 
cially anxious  to  detain  from  the  skies  as  long  as 
possible  is  Addington  Symonds,  a  comparatively 
new  name  in  literature.  His  "  Studies  of  the 
Greek  Poets  "  are  volumes  of  never-ending  de- 
light, and  it  is  a  good  sign  for  both  countries  when 
England  and  America  demand  increasing  editions 
of  these  fascinating  books.  This  enchanting 
scholar  brings  us  into  the  very  presence  of  Ho- 
mer's women,  and  their  sunbright  forms,  as  repre- 
sented by  him,  are  just  as  real  to  us  as  they  were 
to  the  heroes  of  the  "  Iliad "  and  "  Odyssey." 
With  that  pure  and  perfect  maiden,  Xausicaa,  he 
makes  us  all  in  love  afresh,  and  as  we  see  her 
moving  along  the  olive-gardens  down  to  the  sea, 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  403 

our  boyish  enthusiasm  for  the  beautiful  princess 
is  rekindled  with  added  fervor.  These  "  Studies  " 
are  full  of  suggestive  thought.  Every  chapter  is 
radiant  with  light  from  the  Hellenic  world,  the 
far-off  glory  of  "  a  lustrous,  lovelier  past."  The 
emotions,  speculations,  and  passions  of  an  ideal 
people  are  all  set  forth  in  these  sculpturesque 
and  luminous  pages,  and  as  we  linger  over  them 
we  think  of  those  immortal  smiles  and  tears  de- 
picted on  the  ./Eginetan  pediments,  preserved 
through  the  ages  as  eternal  records  of  a  noble  hu- 
man race  that  can  never  be  indifferent  to  man- 
kind. In  perusing  the  "  Studies "  I  have  often 
thought  what  enjoyment  you  would  have  in  read- 
ing many  of  the  chapters,  especially  the  conclud- 
ing one.  The  philosophy  contained  in  that  chap- 
ter you  taught  us  long  ago,  and  its  reproduction 
by  Symonds  is  thus  doubly  welcome  now. 

Buxton  Forman,  a  man  of  genuine  taste  in  let- 
ters, has  edited  and  collected  the  complete  works 
of  Shelley,  poetry  and  prose,  in  regal  form,  both 
as  regards  type,  paper,  and  binding.  It,  is  an  edi- 


404  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

tion  worthy  of  the  most  musical  of  singers,  won  to 
us  from  "  the  pale  planet  Mercury." 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  the  advent  of  a 
specially  noteworthy  American  book.  A  more 
excelling  volume  of  pure  literary  criticism  than 
Clarence  Stedman's  "  Victorian  Poets "  has  not 
appeared  since  you  passed  forward.  It  is  truly 
a  sterling  accession  to  English  letters,  and  its 
value  is  attested  by  its  exceptional  circulation  on 
both  sides  of  the  water.  There  is  a  readable 
buoyancy  of  touch  and  certainty  of  judgment 
about  the  book  which  are  as  welcome  as  they  are 
unusual.  Your  voice  and  pen  would  not  fail  to 
recognize  Stedman  as  a  true  brother  of  the  high 
art  so  often  attempted  and  so  seldom  attained  in 
our  day.  Such  volumes  as  this  one  are  not 
"scanty  intellectual  viands,"  but  real  nutriment 
for  needy  souls. 

Those  two  beloved  old  poets  of  whom  you  spoke 
with  enthusiastic  interest  when  we  met  in  Eng- 
land, have  taken  flight  for  the  Empyrean.  The 
vital  chord  in  both  instances  was  "  softly  disen- 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  405 

gaged,"  and  now  we  speak  of  Dana  and  Bryant  as 
havino-  'passed  forward  into  the  innumerable  host. 

S    r 

You  once  reminded  me  of  the  unwithering  laurels 
due  to  "  Thanatopsis."  Its  noble  author  is  now 
one  of  your  sacred  band,  "  serene  creators  of  im- 
mortal things." 

One  of  Paganini's  ravishing  choir  has  lately 
flitted  away  from  us. 

"Fair-haired,  blue-eyed,  his  aspect  blithe, 
His  figure  tall  and  straight,  and  lithe, 
And  every  feature  of  his  face 
Revealing  his  Norwegian  race ; 
A  radiance  streaming  from  within, 
Around  his  face  and  forehead  beamed, 
The  angel  with  the  violin 
Painted  by  Raphael  he  seemed." 

His  was  indeed  a  lovely  spirit,  and  he  had  the 
power  of  imparting  thought  to  his  instrument, 
seldom  vouchsafed  to  mortals.  He  had  a  vehe- 
ment love  of  liberty,  one  of  your  own  band  of 
freedom-worshippers,  a  soul  full  of  endearment 
and  hope  for  humanity.  To  those  who  came  in 
friendly  contact  with  his  fine  exceptional  nature, 


406  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

his  absence  from  among  us  is  a  daily  grief.  I 
think  you  never  met  him  face  to  face  in  this  lower* 
sphere,  but  you  will  know  him  by  his  smile  ! 

You  were  always  interested  in  painting.  I 
think  you  knew  Washington  Allston,  our  illustri- 
ous American  artist,  when  he  sojourned  in  Eng- 
land more  than  half  a  century  ago,  and  had  for 
his  intimate  friends  Coleridge  and  Hazlitt.  All- 
ston's  reputation  as  a  painter  has  never  dimin- 
ished, and  his  high  place  in  modern  art  never  been 
approached,  until  "William  Hunt  set  up  his  easel 
and  claimed,  by  right  of  genius,  undisputed 
brotherhood  with  him.  Hunt  has  recently  laid 
down  his  palette  and  become  an  absentee  from 
this  side  of  eternity.  Beloved  by  all  who  had  the 
boon  of  his  friendship,  he  leaves  behind  him  some- 
thing better  than  fame,  the  deep  affection  of  his 
contemporaries,  the  tender  devotion  of  those  who 
sought  instruction  from  his  facile,  vigorous  hand 
and  brain.  Now  that  Hunt  has  gone  from  this 
diurnal  round,  Elihu  Vedder  steps  forward,  by 
right  of  original  excellence,  into  the  vacated  front. 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  407 

His  subjects  are  unhackneyed  ones,  and  his  treat- 
ment of  them  sui  generis.  One  of  our  poets  no 
long  ago  published  two  powerful  verses  in  a  maga- 
zine, and  the  painter,  recognizing  their  compelling 
force  for  illustration,  has  made  out  of  them  a  pict- 
ure quite  worthy  of  the  poem.  These  are  the 
lines,  entitled  "  Identity,"  from  which  Vedder  has 
produced  a  masterly  painting  :  — 

"  Somewhere  —  in  desolate  wind-swept  space  — 

In  twilight-land  —  in  No-man's  land  — 
Two  hurrying  Shapes  met  face  to  face, 
And  bade  each  other  stand. 

"  '  And  who  are  you  ? '  cried  one,  a-gape, 

Shuddering  in  the  gloaming  light. 
1 1  know  not,"  said  the  second  Shape, 
1 1  only  died  last  night ! '  " 

Tennyson  and  Browning  are  still  singing  their 
own  matchless  themes.  Like  some  of  Giotto's 
fresco-paintings,  Browning's  later  genius  in  verse 
is  hard  to  understand,  but  it  is  true  genius  not- 
withstanding. Tennyson,  like  Raphael,  paints 
only  what  is  in  the  zenith  of  human  comprehen- 


408  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

sion,  although  some  of  his  dramas,  we  are  told, 
are  not  a  success  on  the  English  stage.  A  critic 
in  one  of  the  theatrical  journals  complains  that 
one  of  the  Laureate's  plays  "  lacked  effective  pro- 
nouns." This  recalled  to  my  mind  a  learned  com- 
mentator's remark  that  the  "  Iliad "  would  have 
been  greatly  improved  if  it  could  have  had  more 
adverbs  judiciously  interspersed  here  and  there  !' 

Beautiful  tributes  to  yourself  and  your  writings 
have  appeared  from  time  to  time  both  in  England 
and  America.  "  The  Quarterly  Review "  and 
"  Blackwood's  Magazine,"  both  among  the  revilers 
during  your  sojourn  here,  have  given  utterance 
to  hearty  words  of  appreciation  and  praise  since 
you  left  us.  Gerald  Massey,  in  "  The  North  Brit- 
ish Review  "  has  spoken  eloquently  of  your  books. 
Alexander  Ireland,  most  enthusiastic  and  genial 
among  your  admirers,  has  printed  a  valuable  list 
of  your  works,  chronologically  arranged  with 
notes  appended  that  render  his  volume  a  priceless 
one  in  literary  criticism.  Dickens  long  ago  pub- 
lished in  "  All  the  Year  Round  "  a  charming  pa- 


TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM.  409 

per  touching  your  genius  and  character,  and  con- 
clusively denying  the  foolish  statement  sometimes 
made  with  regard  to  the  original  of  a  certain  char- 
acter in  his  "  Bleak  House."  Carlyle,  Macaulay, 
Edwin  Whipple,  Richard  Home,  Mary  Mitford, 
Hannay,  and  other  judges  of  what  is  best  in  litera- 
ture have  spoken  in  the  right  vein  of  your  as- 
sured position  in  English  letters.  Launcelot 
Cross  has  lately  printed  a  dainty  little  volume, 
setting  forth  your  characteristics  as  an  author. 
On  his  title-page,  as  indicating  his  feeling  for  your 
works,  he  has  this  motto  from  Coleridge  :  — 

"  I  ken  the  bank  where  Amaranths  blow, 
Have  traced  the  fount  whence  streams  of  nectar  flow. " 

Launcelot's  notes,  gathered  up  at  the  end  of 
his  book,  are  delicious  morsels  for  all  who  love 
your  delectable  lucubrations. 

But  my  letter  is  already  disgracefully  long. 
Mortality  grows  prolix  with  advancing  age.  Par- 
don something  to  admiring  friendship,  and  a  de- 
sire to  extend  the>  knowledge  of  your  wit  and 
wisdom  wherever  I  have  opportunity.  Your 


410  TO  LEIGH  HUNT  IN  ELYSIUM. 

JVIoschus  has  sung  to  us  in  doleful  strain  this  sol- 
emn fiat :  — 

"  Alas!  when  mallows  in  the  garden  die, 
Green  pai'sley  or  the  crisp,  luxuriant  dill, 
They  live  again,  and  flower  another  year  ; 
But  we,  how  great  soe'er,  or  strong,  or  wise, 
When  once  we  die,  sleep  in  the  senseless  earth." 

Can  you  not  disprove  this  assertion  of  your 
favorite,  and  send  us  something  more  satisfactory 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  vanished  souls?  Try, 
dear  Indicator,  and  do  us  all  a  lasting  service. 

I  am  ignorant  of  celestial  postage  requirements, 
and  do  not  wish  this  epistle  to  get  no  farther  than 
the  Dead  Letter  Office,  but  it  must  take  its  chance. 

Would  that  I  were  able  to  receive  from  you 
another  of  those  inspiring  sheets  that  came  across 
the  Atlantic  waters  to  gladden  my  sight  in  days 
gone  by  ;  but  alas  !  over  that  other  stream  no  cor- 
respondence has  ever  crossed !  You,  and  the 
great  majority  with  you,  undoubtedly  understand 
the  reason  wh}r.  With  loving  and  respectful  re- 
gard, your  devoted  friend  and  reader. 


